THE  WHITE  MICE 


"  What  does  anything  matter,  when  I  know — that  the  end  is 

near!" 


THE 

WHITE  MICE 


BY 

RICHARD  HARDING  DAVIS 


ILLUSTRATED  BY 


CHARLES  SCRXBNER'S  SONS 
NEW  YORK  :::::::::::::::::::::::::  1911 


COPYRIGHT,  1909,  BY 
CHARLES  SCRIBNER'S  SONS 


ILLUSTRATIONS 

"  What  does  anything  matter,  when  I  know — that  the 

end  is  near!" Frontispiece 

PACING   PAGE) 

"  O-i-i-gay  you  Moso!    Get  a  move  on!    Pronto!    If 

you  don't  I'll  do  that  myself" 20 

*  I  hear  the  call  of  the  White  Mice,"  said  Peter  de 

Peyster 30 

Under  the  blow,  the  masked  man  staggered  drunkenly      70 

Shifting  the   reins   to  his  left  hand,  Roddy  let  the 

other  fall  upon  his  revolver 114 

"Now  I  know  why-!  ohirte'to-  Venezuela^"  .  .  .  .  144 
On  such  a  night,.  Leander ^ivram  the  H^Iles^ont  .  .  198 
Her  fingers  traced  the  sign  of  the  cross 294 


226713 


THE  WHITE  MICE 


ONCE  upon  a  time  a  lion  dropped  his  paw 
upon  a  mouse. 

"Please  let  me  live!"  begged  the  mouse,  "and 
some  day  I  will  do  as  much  for  you." 

"That  is  so  funny,"  roared  the  king  of  beasts,, 
"that  we  will  release  you.  We  had  no  idea  mica 
had  a  sense  of  humor." 

And  then,  as  you  remember,  the  lion  was  caught 
in  the  net  of  the  hunter,  and  struggled,  and  fought, 
and  struck  blindly,  until  his  spirit  and  strength 
were  broken,  and  he  lay  helpless  and  dying. 

And  the  mouse,  happening  to  pass  that  way, 
gnawed  and  nibbled  at  the  net,  and  gave  the  lion 
his  life. 

The  morals  are:  that  an  appreciation  of  humor 
is  a  precious  thing;  that  God  moves  in  a  myste 
rious  way,  His  wonders  to  perform,  and  that  you 
never  can  tell. 

In  regard  to  this  fable  it  is  urged  that,  according 
i 


:  The  White  Mice 

to  the  doctrine  of  chances,  it  is  extremely  unlikely 
that  at  the  very  moment  the  lion  lay  bound  and 
helpless  the  very  same  mouse  should  pass  by. 
But  the  explanation  is  very  simple  and  bromidic. 

It  is  this — that  this  is  a  small  world. 

People  who  are  stay-at-home  bodies  come  to 
believe  the  whole  world  is  the  village  in  which  they 
live.  People  who  are  rolling-stones  claim  that  if 
you  travel  far  enough  and  long  enough  the  whole 
world  becomes  as  one  village;  that  sooner  or  later 
you  make  friends  with  every  one  in  it;  that  the 
only  difference  between  the  stay-at-homes  and  the 
gadabouts  is  that  while  the  former  answer  local 
telephone  calls,  the  others  receive  picture  postal- 
cards.  There  is  a  story  that  seems  to  illustrate 
how  small  this  world  is.  In  fact,  this  is  the  story. 

General  Don  Miguel  Rojas,  who  as  a  young  man 
was  called  the  Lion  of  Valencia,  and  who  later  had 
honorably  served  Venezuela  as  Minister  of  Foreign 
Affairs,  as  Secretary  of  War,  as  Minister  to  the 
Court  of  St.  James  and  to  the  Republic  of  France, 
having  reached  the  age  of  sixty  found  himself  in  a 
dungeon-cell  underneath  the  fortress  in  the  harbor 
of  Porto  Cabello.  He  had  been  there  two  years. 
The  dungeon  was  dark  and  very  damp,  and  at 
high-tide  the  waters  of  the  harbor  oozed  through 


The  White  Mice 

the  pores  of  the  limestone  walls.  The  air  was  the 
air  of  a  receiving-vault,  and  held  the  odor  of  a 
fisherman's  creel. 

General  Rojas  sat  huddled  upon  a  canvas  cot, 
with  a  blanket  about  his  throat  and  a  blanket  about 
his  knees,  reading  by  the  light  of  a  candle  the  story 
of  Don  Quixote.  Sometimes  a  drop  of  water  fell 
upon  the  candle  and  it  sputtered,  and  its  light  was 
nearly  lost  in  the  darkness.  Sometimes  so  many 
drops  gathered  upon  the  white  head  of  the  Lion 
of  Valencia  that  he  sputtered,  too,  and  coughed 
so  violently  that,  in  agony,  he  beat  with  feeble 
hands  upon  his  breast.  And  his  light,  also,  nearly 
escaped  into  the  darkness. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  world,  four  young 
Americans,  with  legs  crossed  and  without  their 
shoes,  sat  on  the  mats  of  the  tea-house  of  the  Hun 
dred  and  One  Steps.  On  their  sun-tanned  faces 
was  the  glare  of  Yokohama  Bay,  in  their  eyes  the 
light  of  youth,  of  intelligent  interest,  of  adventure. 
In  the  hand  of  each  was  a  tiny  cup  of  acrid  tea. 
Three  of  them  were  under  thirty,  and  each  wore 
the  suit  of  silk  pongee  that  in  eighteen  hours  C. 
Tom,  or  Little  Ah  Sing,  the  Chinese  King,  fits  to 
any  figure,  and  which  in  the  Far  East  is  the  badge 
of  the  tourist  tribe.  Of  the  three,  one  was  Rodman 

3 


The  White  Mice 

Forrester.  His  father,  besides  being  pointed  out 
as  the  parent  of  "Roddy"  Forrester,  the  one-time 
celebrated  Yale  pitcher,  was  himself  not  unfavor 
ably  known  to  many  governments  as  a  constructor 
of  sky-scrapers,  breakwaters,  bridges,  wharves  and 
light-houses,  which  latter  he  planted  on  slippery 
rocks  along  inaccessible  coast-lines.  Among  his 
fellow  Captains  of  Industry  he  was  known  as  the 
Forrester  Construction  Company,  or,  for  short, 
the  "F.  C.  C."  Under  that  alias  Mr.  Forrester 
was  now  trying  to  sell  to  the  Japanese  three  light 
houses,  to  illuminate  the  Inner  Sea  between  Kobe 
and  Shimoneseki.  To  hasten  the  sale  he  had 
shipped  "  Roddy"  straight  from  the  machine-shops 
to  Yokohama. 

Three  years  before,  when  Roddy  left  Yale,  his 
father  ordered  him  abroad  to  improve  his  mind 
by  travel,  and  to  inspect  certain  light-houses  and 
breakwaters  on  both  shores  of  the  English  Chan 
nel.  While  crossing  from  Dover  to  Calais  on  his 
way  to  Paris,  Roddy  made  a  very  superficial  survey 
of  the  light-houses  and  reported  that,  so  far  as  he 
could  see  by  daylight,  they  still  were  on  the  job. 
His  father,  who  had  his  own  breezy  sense  of  humor, 
cancelled  Roddy's  letter  of  credit,  cabled  him  home, 
and  put  him  to  work  in  the  machine-shop.  There 
the  manager  reported  that,  except  that  he  had 

4 


The  White  Mice 

shown  himself  a  good  "mixer,"  and  had  organized 
picnics  for  the  benefit  societies,  and  a  base-ball 
team,  he  had  not  earned  his  fifteen  dollars  a  week. 

When  Roddy  was  called  before  him,  his  father 
said : 

"It  is  wrong  that  your  rare  talents  as  a  'mixer* 
should  be  wasted  in  front  of  a  turning-lathe. 
Callahan  tells  me  you  can  talk  your  way  through 
boiler-plate,  so  I  am  going  to  give  you  a  chance  to 
talk  the  Japs  into  giving  us  a  contract.  But,  re 
member  this,  Roddy,"  his  father  continued  sen- 
tentiously,  "the  Japs  are  the  Jews  of  the  present. 
Be  polite,  but  don't  appear  too  anxious.  If  you 
do,  they  will  beat  you  down  in  the  price." 

Perhaps  this  parting  injunction  explains  why, 
from  the  time  Roddy  first  burst  upon  the  Land  of 
the  Rising  Sun,  he  had  devoted  himself  entirely 
to  the  Yokohama  tea-houses  and  the  base-ball 
grounds  of  the  American  Naval  Hospital.  He  was 
trying,  he  said,  not  to  appear  too  anxious.  He 
hoped  father  would  be  pleased. 

With  Roddy  to  Japan,  as  a  companion,  friend 
and  fellow-tourist,  came  Peter  de  Peyster,  who 
hailed  from  the  banks  of  the  Hudson,  and  of  what 
Roddy  called  "one  of  our  ancient  poltroon  fam 
ilies."  At  Yale,  although  he  had  been  two  classes 
in  advance  of  Roddy,  the  two  had  been  room- 

5 


The  White  Mice 

mates,  and  such  firm  friends  that  they  contradicted 
each  other  without  ceasing.  Having  quarrelled 
through  two  years  of  college  life,  they  were  on  terms 
of  such  perfect  understanding  as  to  be  inseparable. 

The  third  youth  was  the  "Orchid  Hunter."  His 
father  manufactured  the  beer  that,  so  Roddy  said, 
had  made  his  home  town  bilious.  He  was  not 
really  an  orchid  hunter,  but  on  his  journeyings 
around  the  globe  he  had  become  so  ashamed  of 
telling  people  he  had  no  other  business  than  to 
spend  his  father's  money  that  he  had  decided  to 
say  he  was  collecting  orchids. 

"It  shows  imagination,"  he  explained,  "and  I 
have  spent  enough  money  on  orchids  on  Fifth 
Avenue  to  make  good." 

The  fourth  youth  in  the  group  wore  the  uniform 
and  insignia  of  a  Lieutenant  of  the  United  States 
Navy.  His  name  was  Perry,  and,  looking  down 
from  the  toy  balcony  of  the  tea-house,  clinging  like 
a  bird's-nest  to  the  face  of  the  rock,  they  could  see 
his  battle-ship  on  the  berth.  It  was  Perry  who  had 
convoyed  them  to  O  Kin  San  and  her  delectable 
tea-house,  and  it  was  Perry  who  was  talking  shop. 

"  But  the  most  important  member  of  the  ship's 
company  on  a  submarine,"  said  the  sailor-man, 
"doesn't  draw  any  pay  at  all,  and  he  has  no  rating. 
He  is  a  mouse." 

6 


The  White  Mice 

"He's  a  what?"  demanded  the  Orchid  Hunter. 
He  had  been  patriotically  celebrating  the  arrival 
of  the  American  Squadron.  During  tiffin,  the 
sight  of  the  white  uniforms  in  the  hotel  dining- 
room  had  increased  his  patriotism;  and  after 
tiffin  the  departure  of  the  Pacific  Mail,  carrying 
to  the  Golden  Gate  so  many  "good  fellows," 
further  aroused  it.  Until  the  night  before,  in  the 
billiard-room,  he  had  never  met  any  of  the  good 
fellows;  but  the  thought  that  he  might  never  see 
them  again  now  depressed  him.  And  the  tea  he 
was  drinking  neither  cheered  nor  inebriated.  So 
when  the  Orchid  Hunter  spoke  he  showed  a  touch 
of  temper. 

"Don't  talk  sea  slang  to  me,"  he  commanded; 
"when  you  say  he  is  a  mouse,  what  do  you  mean 
by  a  mouse  ?" 

"I  mean  a  mouse,"  said  the  Lieutenant,  "a 
white  mouse  with  pink  eyes.  He  bunks  in  the 
engine-room,  and  when  he  smells  sulphuric  gas 
escaping  anywhere  he  squeals;  and  the  chief  finds 
the  leak,  and  the  ship  isn't  blown  up.  Sometimes, 
one  little,  white  mouse  will  save  the  lives  of  a  dozen 
bluejackets." 

Roddy  and  Peter  de  Peyster  nodded  appre 
ciatively. 

"Mos'  extr'd'n'ry!"  said  the  Orchid  Hunter. 
7 


The  White  Mice 

"Mos*  sad,  too.  I  will  now  drink  to  the  mouse. 
The  moral  of  the  story  is,"  he  pointed  out, 
"that  everybody,  no  matter  how  impecunious, 
can  help;  even  you  fellows  could  help.  So 
could  I." 

His  voice  rose  in  sudden  excitement.  "I  will 
now,"  he  cried,  "organize  the  Society  of  the  Order 
of  the  White  Mice.  The  object  of  the  society  is  to 
save  everybody's  life.  Don't  tell  me,"  he  objected 
scornfully,  "that  you  fellows  will  let  a  little  white 
mice  save  twelve  hundred  bluejackets,  an*  you  sit 
there  an*  grin.  You  mus'  all  be  a  White  Mice. 
You  mus'  all  save  somebody's  life.  An* — then — 
then  we  give  ourself  a  dinner." 

"And  medals!"  suggested  Peter  de  Peyster. 

The  Orchid  Hunter  frowned.  He  regarded  the 
amendment  with  suspicion. 

"  Is't  th'  intention  of  the  Hon'ble  Member  from 
N'York,"  he  asked,  "that  each  of  us  gets  a  medal, 
or  just  th'  one  that  does  th'  saving  ?" 

"  Just  one,"  said  Peter  de  Peyster. 

"No,  we  all  get  'em,"  protested  Roddy.  "Each 
time!" 

"Th'  'men'ment  to  th'  'men'ment  is  carried," 
announced  the  Orchid  Hunter.  He  untwisted  his 
legs  and  clapped  his  hands.  The  paper  walls  slid 
apart,  the  little  Nezans,  giggling,  bowing,  ironing 


The  White  Mice 

out  their  knees  with  open  palms,  came  tripping  and 
stumbling  to  obey. 

"Take  away  the  tea!"  shouted  the  Orchid 
Hunter.  "  It  makes  me  nervous.  Bring  us  fizzy- 
water,  in  larges'  size,  cold,  expensive  bottles.  And 
now,  you  fellows,"  proclaimed  the  Orchid  Hunter, 
"I'm  goin*  into  secret  session  and  initiate  you 
into  Yokohama  Chapter,  Secret  Order  of  White 
Mice.  And— I  will  be  Mos'  Exalted  Secret  White 
Mouse." 

When  he  returned  to  the  ship  Perry  told  the 
wardroom  about  it  and  laughed,  and  the  ward 
room  laughed,  and  that  night  at  the  Grand  Hotel, 
while  the  Japanese  band  played  "Give  My  Re 
gards  to  Broadway,"  which  Peter  de  Peyster  told 
them  was  the  American  national  anthem,  the  White 
Mice  gave  their  first  annual  dinner.  For,  as  the 
Orchid  Hunter  pointed  out,  in  order  to  save  life, 
one  must  sustain  it. 

And  Louis  Eppinger  himself  designed  that  din 
ner,  and  the  Paymaster,  and  Perry's  brother- 
officers,  who  were  honored  guests,  still  speak  of  it 
with  awe;  and  the  next  week's  Box  of  Curios  said 
of  it  editorially:  "And  while  our  little  Yokohama 
police  know  much  of  ju-jitsu,  they  found  that  they 
had  still  something  to  learn  of  the  short  jab  to  the 
jaw  and  the  quick  getaway." 

9 


The  White  Mice 

Indeed,  throughout,  it  was  a  most  successful 
dinner. 

And  just  to  show  how  small  this  world  is,  and 
that  "God  moves  in  a  mysterious  way,  His  wonders 
to  perform/*  at  three  o'clock  that  morning,  when 
the  dinner-party  in  rickshaws  were  rolling  down 
the  Bund,  singing  "We're  Little  White  Mice  Who 
Have  Gone  Astray,"  their  voices  carried  across  the 
Pacific,  across  the  Cordilleras  and  the  Caribbean 
Sea;  and  an  old  man  in  his  cell,  tossing  and  shiver 
ing  with  fever,  smiled  and  sank  to  sleep;  for  in  his 
dreams  he  had  heard  the  scampering  feet  of  the 
White  Mice,  and  he  had  seen  the  gates  of  his 
prison-cell  roll  open. 

The  Forrester  Construction  Company  did  not 
get  the  contract  to  build  the  three  light-houses. 
The  Japanese  preferred  a  light-house  made  by  an 
English  firm.  They  said  it  was  cheaper.  It  was 
cheaper,  because  they  bought  the  working  plans 
from  a  draughtsman  the  English  firm  had  dis 
charged  for  drunkenness,  and,  by  causing  the 
revolving  light  to  wink  once  instead  of  twice, 
dodged  their  own  patent  laws. 

Mr.  Forrester  agreed  with  the  English  firm  that 
the  Japanese  were  "a  wonderful  little  people,"  and 
then  looked  about  for  some  one  individual  he  could 

10 


The  White  Mice 

blame.  Finding  no  one  else,  he  blamed  Roddy. 
The  interview  took  place  on  the  twenty-seventh 
story  of  the  Forrester  Building,  in  a  room  that 
overlooked  the  Brooklyn  Bridge. 

"You  didn't  fall  down  on  the  job,"  the  fond 
parent  was  carefully  explaining,  "because  you 
never  were  on  the  job.  You  didn't  even  start.  It 
was  thoughtful  of  you  to  bring  back  kimonos  to 
mother  and  the  girls.  But  the  one  you  brought  me 
does  not  entirely  compensate  me  for  the  ninety 
thousand  dollars  you  didn't  bring  back.  I  would 
like  my  friends  to  see  me  in  a  kimono  with  silk 
storks  and  purple  wistarias  down  the  front,  but  I 
feel  I  cannot  afford  to  pay  ninety  thousand  dollars 
for  a  bath-robe. 

"Nor  do  I  find,"  continued  the  irate  parent 
coldly,  "that  the  honor  you  did  the  company  by 
disguising  yourself  as  a  stoker  and  helping  the  base 
ball  team  of  the  Louisiana  to  win  the  pennant  of 
the  Asiatic  Squadron,  altogether  reconciles  us  to 
the  loss  of  a  government  contract.  I  have  paid 
a  good  deal  to  have  you  taught  mechanical  engi 
neering,  and  I  should  like  to  know  how  soon  you 
expect  to  give  me  the  interest  on  my  money." 

Roddy  grinned  sheepishly,  and  said  he  would 
begin  at  once,  by  taking  his  father  out  to  lunch. 

"Good!"  said  Forrester,  Senior.  "But  before 
ii 


The  White  Mice 

we  go,  Roddy,  I  want  you  to  look  over  there  to  the 
Brooklyn  side.  Do  you  see  pier  number  eleven — 
just  south  of  the  bridge  ?  Yes  ?  Then  do  you  see 
a  white  steamer  taking  on  supplies  ?" 

Roddy,  delighted  at  the  change  of  subject, 
nodded. 

"That  ship,"  continued  his  father,  "is  sailing  to 
Venezuela,  where  we  have  a  concession  from  the 
government  to  build  breakwaters  and  buoy  the 
harbors  and  put  up  light-houses.  We  have  been 
working  there  for  two  years  and  we've  spent  about 
two  million  dollars.  And  some  day  we  hope  to 
get  our  money.  Sometimes,"  continued  Mr.  For 
rester,  "  it  is  necessary  to  throw  good  money  after 
bad.  That  is  what  we  are  doing  in  Venezuela." 

"I  don't  understand,"  interrupted  Roddy  with 
polite  interest. 

"You  are  not  expected  to,"  said  his  father. 
"  If  you  will  kindly  condescend  to  hold  down  the 
jobs  I  give  you,  you  can  safely  leave  the  high  finance 
of  the  company  to  your  father." 

"Quite  so,"  said  Roddy  hastily.  "Where  shall 
we  go  to  lunch  ?" 

As  though  he  had  not  heard  him,  Forrester, 
Senior,  continued  relentlessly:  "To-morrow,"  he 
said,  "you  are  sailing  on  that  ship  for  Porto 
Cabello;  we  have  just  started  a  light-house  at  Porto 

12 


The  White  Mice 

Cabello,  and  are  buoying  the  harbor.  You  are 
going  for  the  F.  C.  C.  You  are  an  inspector." 

Roddy  groaned  and  sank  into  a  chair. 

"Go  on,"  he  commanded,  "break  it  to  me  quick! 
What  do  I  inspect?" 

"You  sit  in  the  sun,"  said  Mr.  Forrester,  "with 
a  pencil,  and  every  time  our  men  empty  a  bag  of 
cement  into  the  ocean  you  make  a  mark.  At  the 
same  time,  if  you  are  not  an  utter  idiot  and  com 
pletely  blind,  you  can't  help  but  see  how  a  light 
house  is  set  up.  The  company  is  having  trouble 
in  Venezuela,  trouble  in  collecting  its  money. 
You  might  as  well  know  that,  because  everybody 
in  Venezuela  will  tell  you  so.  But  that's  all  you 
need  to  know.  The  other  men  working  for  the 
company  down  there  will  think,  because  you  are 
my  son,  that  you  know  more  about  what  I'm  doing 
in  Venezuela  than  they  do.  Now,  understand,  you 
don't  know  anything,  and  I  want  you  to  say  so.  I 
want  you  to  stick  to  your  own  job,  and  not  mix  up 
in  anything  that  doesn't  concern  you.  There  will 
be  nothing  to  distract  you.  McKildrick  writes  me 
that  in  Porto  Cabello  there  are  no  tea-houses,  no 
roads  for  automobiles,  and,  except  for  the  fire-flies, 
ail  the  white  lights  go  out  at  nine  o'clock. 

"Now,  Roddy,"  concluded  Mr.  Forrester  warn- 
ingly,  "this  is  your  chance,  and  it  is  the  last  chance 

13 


The  White  Mice 

for  dinner  in  the  dining-car,  for  you.  If  you  fail 
the  company,  and  by  the  company  I  mean  myself, 
this  time,  you  can  ask  Fred  Sterry  for  a  job  on  the 
waiters'  nine  at  Palm  Beach." 

Like  all  the  other  great  captains,  Mr.  Forrester 
succeeded  through  the  work  of  his  lieutenants. 
For  him,  in  every  part  of  the  world,  more  especially 
in  those  parts  of  it  in  which  the  white  man  was  but 
just  feeling  his  way,  they  were  at  work. 

In  Siberia,  in  British  East  Africa,  in  Upper 
Burmah,  engineers  of  the  Forrester  Construction 
Company  had  tamed,  shackled  and  bridged  great 
rivers.  In  the  Soudan  they  had  thrown  up  ram 
parts  against  the  Nile.  Along  the  coasts  of  South 
America  they  had  cast  the  rays  of  the  Forrester 
revolving  light  upon  the  face  of  the  waters  of  both 
the  South  Atlantic  and  the  Pacific. 

They  were  of  all  ages,  from  the  boys  who  had 
never  before  looked  through  a  transit  except  across 
the  college  campus,  to  sun-tanned,  fever-haunted 
veterans  who,  for  many  years,  had  fought  Nature 
where  she  was  most  stubborn,  petulant  and  cruel. 
They  had  seen  a  tidal-wave  crumple  up  a  break 
water  which  had  cost  them  a  half-year  of  labor,  and 
slide  it  into  the  ocean.  They  had  seen  swollen 
rivers,  drunk  with  the  rains,  trip  bridges  by  the 

14 


The  White  Mice 

ankles  and  tc  ss  them  on  the  banks,  twisted  and 
sprawling;  ti  ey  had  seen  a  tropical  hurricane 
overturn  a  half-finished  light-house  as  gayly  as  a 
summer  breeze  upsets  a  rocking-chair;  they  had 
fought  with  wild  beasts,  they  had  fought  with  wild 
men,  with  Soudanese  of  the  Desert,  with  Federated 
Sons  of  Labor,  with  Yaqui  Indians,  and  they  had 
seen  cholera,  sleeping-sickness  and  the  white  man's 
gin  turn  their  compounds  into  pest-camps  and 
crematories. 

Of  these  things  Mr.  Forrester,  in  the  twenty- 
seven-story  Forrester  sky-scraper,  where  gray- 
coated  special  policemen  and  elevator-starters 
touched  their  caps  to  him,  had  seen  nothing.  He 
regarded  these  misadventures  by  flood  and  field 
only  as  obstacles  to  his  carrying  out  in  the  time 
stipulated  a  business  contract.  He  accepted  them 
patiently  as  he  would  a  strike  of  the  workmen  on 
the  apartment-house  his  firm  was  building  on 
Fifty-ninth  Street. 

Sometimes,  in  order  to  better  show  the  progress 
they  were  making,  his  engineers  sent  him  from 
strange  lands  photographs  of  their  work.  At 
these,  for  a  moment,  he  would  glance  curiously, 
at  the  pictures  of  naked,  dark-skinned  coolies  in 
turbans,  of  elephants  dragging  iron  girder^  his 
iron  girders;  and  perhaps  he  would  wonder  if  the 

15 


The  White  Mice' 

man  in  the  muddy  boots  and  the  hea^  y  sun  hat  was 
McKenzie.  His  interest  went  no  further  than 
that;  his  imagination  was  not  stirred. 

Sometimes  McKenzie  returned  ;md,  in  evening 
dress,  dined  with  him  at  his  up-town  club,  or  at  a 
fashionable  restaurant,  where  the  senses  of  the 
engineer  were  stifled  by  the  steam  heat,  the  music 
and  the  scent  of  flowers;  where,  through  a  joyous 
mist  of  red  candle-shades  and  golden  champagne, 
he  once  more  looked  upon  women  of  his  own  color. 
It  was  not  under  such  conditions  that  Mr.  For 
rester  could  expect  to  know  the  real  McKenzie. 
This  was  not  the  McKenzie  who,  two  months 
before,  was  fighting  death  on  a  diet  of  fruit  salts, 
and  who,  against  the  sun,  wore  a  bath-towel  down 
his  spinal  column.  On  such  occasions  Mr.  For 
rester  wanted  to  know  if,  with  native  labor  costing 
but  a  few  yards  of  cotton  and  a  bowl  of  rice,  the 
new  mechanical  rivet-drivers  were  not  an  extrava 
gance.  How,  he  would  ask,  did  salt  water  and  a 
sweating  temperature  of  one  hundred  and  five  de 
grees  act  upon  the  new  anti-rust  paint  ?  That 
was  what  he  wanted  to  know. 

Once  one  of  his  young  lieutenants,  inspired  by  a 
marvellous  dinner,  called  to  him  across  the  table : 
"  You  remember,  sir,  that  light-house  we  put  up  in 
the  Persian  Gulf?  The  Consul  at  Aden  told  me, 

16 


The  White  Mice 

this  last  trip,  that  before  that  light  was  there  the 
wrecks  on  the  coast  averaged  fifteen  a  year  and  the 
deaths  from  drowning  over  a  hundred.  You  will 
be  glad  to  hear  that  since  your  light  went  up,  three 
years  ago,  there  have  been  only  two  wrecks  and  no 
deaths." 

Mr.  Forrester  nodded  gravely. 

"I  remember,"  he  said.  "That  was  the  time 
we  made  the  mistake  of  sending  cement  through 
the  Canal  instead  of  around  the  Cape,  and  the  tolls 
cost  us  five  thousand  dollars." 

It  was  not  that  Mr.  Forrester  weighed  the  loss  of 
the  five  thousand  dollars  against  a  credit  of  lives 
saved.  It  was  rather  that  he  was  not  in  the  life- 
saving  business.  Like  all  his  brother  captains,  he 
was,  in  a  magnificent  way,  mechanically  charitable. 
For  institutions  that  did  make  it  a  business  to  save 
life  he  wrote  large  checks.  But  he  never  mixed 
charity  and  business.  In  what  he  was  doing  in  the 
world  he  either  was  unable  to  see,  or  was  not  inter 
ested  in  seeing,  what  was  human,  dramatic,  pictu 
resque.  When  he  forced  himself  to  rest  from  his 
labor,  his  relaxation  was  the  reading  of  novels  of 
romance,  of  adventure — novels  that  told  of  strange 
places  and  strange  peoples.  Between  the  after- 
dinner  hour  and  bedtime,  or  while  his  yacht  picked 
her  way  up  the  Sound,  these  tales  filled  him  with 

17 


The  White  Mice 

surprise.  Often  he  would  exclaim  admiringly: 
"  I  don't  see  how  these  fellows  think  up  such 
things." 

He  did  not  know  that,  in  his  own  business,  there 
were  melodramas,  romances  which  made  those  of 
the  fiction-writers  ridiculous. 

And  so,  when  young  Sam  Caldwell,  the  third 
vice-president,  told  Mr.  Forrester  that  if  the  com 
pany  hoped  to  obtain  the  money  it  had  sunk  in 
Venezuela  it  must  finance  a  revolution,  Mr.  For 
rester,  without  question,  consented  to  the  expense, 
and  put  it  down  under  "Political."  Had  Sam 
Caldwell  shown  him  that  what  was  needed  was  a 
construction-raft  or  a  half-dozen  giant  steam- 
shovels,  he  would  have  furnished  the  money  as 
readily  and  with  as  little  curiosity. 

Sam  Caldwell,  the  third  vice-president,  was  a 
very  smart  young  man.  Every  one,  even  men 
much  older  than  he,  said  as  much,  and  no  one 
was  more  sure  of  it  than  was  Sam  Caldwell  him 
self.  His  vanity  on  that  point  was,  indeed,  his 
most  prepossessing  human  quality. 

He  was  very  proud  of  his  freedom  from,  those 
weak  scruples  that  prevented  rival  business  men 
from  underbidding  the  F.  C.  C.  He  congratulated 
himself  on  the  fact  that  at  thirty-four  he  was  much 
more  of  a  cynic  than  men  of  sixty.  He  held  no 

18 


The  White  Mice 

illusions,  and  he  rejoiced  in  a  sense  of  superiority 
over  those  of  his  own  class  in  college,  who,  in 
matters  of  business,  were  still  hampered  by  old- 
time  traditions. 

If  in  any  foreign  country  the  work  of  the  F.  C.  C. 
was  halted  by  politicians,  it  was  always  Sam  Cald- 
well  who  was  sent  across  the  sea  to  confer  with 
them.  He  could  quote  you  the  market-price  on  a 
Russian  grand-duke,  or  a  Portuguese  colonial 
governor,  as  accurately  as  he  could  that  of  a 
Tammany  sachem.  His  was  the  non-publicity  de 
partment.  People  who  did  not  like  him  called  him 
Mr.  Forrester's  jackal.  When  the  lawyers  of  the 
company  had  studied  how  they  could  evade  the 
law  on  corporations,  and  had  shown  how  the 
officers  of  the  F.  C.  C.  could  do  a  certain  thing  and 
still  keep  out  of  jail,  Sam  Caidwell  was  the  man 
who  did  that  thing. 

He  had  been  to  Venezuela  "to  look  over  the 
ground,"  and  he  had  reported  that  President 
Alvarez  must  go,  and  that  some  one  who  would  be 
friendly  to  the  F.  C.  C.  must  be  put  in  his  place. 
That  was  all  Mr.  Forrester  knew,  or  cared  to 
know.  With  the  delay  in  Venezuela  he  was  im 
patient.  He  wanted  to  close  up  chat  business  and 
move  his  fleet  of  tenders,  dredges  and  rafts  to 
another  coast.  So,  as  was  the  official  routine,  he 

19 


The  White  Mice 

turned  over  the  matter  to  Sam  Caldwell,  to  settle 
it  in  Sam  CaldwelPs  own  way. 

Two  weeks  after  his  talk  with  his  father,  Roddy, 
ignorant  of  Mr.  CaldwelPs  intentions,  was  in  Ven 
ezuela,  sitting  on  the  edge  of  a  construction-raft, 
dangling  his  rubber  boots  in  the  ocean,  and  watch 
ing  a  steel  skeleton  creep  up  from  a  coral  reef  into 
a  blazing,  burning  sky.  At  intervals  he  would 
wake  to  remove  his  cigarette,  and  shout  fiercely: 
"0-z-z-^fl,  you  Moso!  Get  a  move  on!  Pronto! 
If  you  don't  I'll  do  that  myself." 

Every  ten  minutes  El  Senor  Roddy  had  made 
the  same  threat,  and  the  workmen,  once  hopeful 
that  he  would  carry  it  into  effect,  had  grown  de 
spondent. 

In  the  mind  of  Peter  de  Peyster  there  was  no 
doubt  that,  unless  something  was  done,  and  at 
once,  the  Order  of  the  White  Mice  would  cease  to 
exist.  The  call  of  Gain,  of  Duty,  of  Pleasure  had 
scattered  the  charter  members  to  distant  corners 
of  the  world.  Their  dues  were  unpaid,  the  pages 
of  the  Golden  Book  of  Record  were  blank.  With 
out  the  necessary  quorum  of  two  there  could  be  no 
meetings,  without  meetings  there  could  be  no  din 
ners,  and,  incidentally,  over  a"  the  world  people 
continued  to  die,  and  the  White  Mice  were  doing 

20 


" O-i-i-ga,  you  Moso!     Get  a  move  on!     Pronto!     If  you 
don't  I'll  do  that  myself." 


The  White  Mice 

nothing  to  prevent  it.  Peter  de  Peyster,  mindful 
of  his  oath,  of  his  duty  as  the  Most  Secret  Secretary 
and  High  Historian  of  the  Order,  shot  arrows  in 
the  air  in  the  form  of  irate  postal-cards.  He 
charged  all  White  Mice  to  instantly  report  to  the 
Historian  the  names  of  those  persons  whom,  up  to 
date,  they  had  saved  from  death. 

From  the  battle-ship  Louisiana,  Perry  wrote 
briefly: 

"  Beg  to  report  during  gale  off  Finisterre,  went 
to  rescue  of  man  overboard.  Man  overboard 
proved  to  be  Reagan,  gunner's  mate,  first  class, 
holding  long-distance  championship  for  swimming 
and  two  medals  for  saving  life.  After  I  sank  the 
third  time,  Reagan  got  me  by  the  hair  and  towed 
me  to  the  ship.  Who  gets  the  assist  ?" 

From  Raffles'  Hotel,  Singapore,  the  Orchid 
Hunter  cabled: 

"Have  saved  own  valuable  life  by  refusing  any 
longer  to  drink  Father's  beer.  Give  everybody 
medal." 

From  Porto  Cabello,  Venezuela,  Roddy  wrote: 

"I  have  saved  lives  of  fifty  Jamaica  coolies  daily 
by  not  carrying  an  axe.  If  you  want  to  save  my 
life  from  suicide,  sunstroke  and  sleeping-sickness — • 

21 


The  White  Mice 

which  attacks  me  with  special  virulence  immedi 
ately  after  lunch — come  by  next  steamer." 

A  week  later,  Peter  de  Peyster  took  the  Red  D 
boat  south,  and  after  touching  at  Porto  Rico  and 
at  the  Island  of  Curacao,  swept  into  Porto  Cabello 
and  into  the  arms  of  his  friend. 

On  the  wharf,  after  the  shouts  of  welcome  had 
died  away,  Roddy  inquired  anxiously:  "As  you 
made  the  harbor,  Peter,  did  you  notice  any  red 
and  black  buoys  ?  Those  are  my  buoys.  /  put 
them  there — myself.  And  I  laid  out  that  entire 
channel  you  came  in  by,  all  by  myself,  too!" 

Much  time  had  passed  since  the  two  friends  had 
been  able  to  insult  each  other  face  to  face. 

"Roddy,"  coldly  declared  Peter,  "if  I  thought 
you  had  charted  that  channel  I'd  go  home  on  foot, 
by  land." 

"  Do  you  mean  you  think  I  can't  plant  deep-sea 
buoys?"  demanded  Roddy. 

"You  can't  plant  potatoes!"  said  Peter.  "If 
you  had  to  set  up  lamp-posts,  with  the  street  names 
on  them,  along  Broadway,  you  would  put  the  ones 
marked  Union  Square  in  Columbus  Circle." 

"I  want  you  to  know,"  shouted  Roddy,  "that 
my  buoys  are  the  talk  of  this  port.  These  people 
are  just  crazy  about  my  buoys — especially  the  red 

22 


The  White  Mice 

buoys.  If  you  didn't  come  to  Venezuela  to  see  my 
buoys,  why  did  you  come  ?  I  will  plant  a  buoy 
for  you  to-morrow!"  challenged  Roddy.  "I  will 
show  you!" 

"You  will  have  to  show  me,"  said  Peter. 

Peter  had  been  a  week  in  Porto  Cabello,  and,  in 
keeping  Roddy  at  work,  had  immensely  enjoyed 
himself.  Each  morning,  in  the  company's  gaso 
line  launch,  the  two  friends  went  put-put-putting 
outside  the  harbor,  where  Roddy  made  soundings 
for  his  buoys,  and  Peter  lolled  in  the  stern  and 
fished.  His  special  pleasure  was  in  trying  to  haul 
man-eating  sharks  into  the  launch  at  the  moment 
Roddy  was  leaning  over  the  gunwale,  taking  a 
sounding. 

One  evening  at  sunset,  on  their  return  trip,  as 
they  were  under  the  shadow  of  the  fortress,  the 
engine  of  the  launch  broke  down.  While  the  black 
man  from  Trinidad  was  diagnosing  the  trouble, 
Peter  was  endeavoring  to  interest  Roddy  in  the 
quaint  little  Dutch  Island  of  Curacao  that  lay  one 
hundred  miles  to  the  east  of  them.  He  chose  to 
talk  of  Curacao  because  the  ship  that  carried  him 
from  the  States  had  touched  there,  while  the  ship 
that  brought  Roddy  south  had  not.  This  fact 
irritated  Roddy,  so  Peter  naturally  selected  the 

23 


The  White  Mice 

moment  when  the  launch  had  broken  down  and 
Roddy  was  both  hungry  and  peevish  to  talk  of 
Curasao. 

" Think  of  your  never  having  seen  Curasao!" 
he  sighed.  "Some  day  you  certainly  must  visit  it. 
With  a  sea  as  flat  as  this  is  to-night  you  could 
make  the  run  in  the  launch  in  twelve  hours.  It  is 
a  place  you  should  see." 

"That  is  so  like  you,"  exclaimed  Roddy  indig 
nantly.  "I  have  been  here  four  months,  and  you 
have  been  here  a  week,  and  you  try  to  tell  me  about 
Curacao !  It  is  the  place  where  curacao  and  revolu 
tionists  come  from.  All  the  exiles  from  Venezuela 
wait  over  there  until  there  is  a  revolution  over  here, 
and  then  they  come  across.  You  can't  tell  me 
anything  about  Curacao.  7  don't  have  to  go  to  a 
place  to  know  about  it." 

"I'll  bet,"  challenged  Peter,  "you  don't  know 
about  the  mother  and  the  two  daughters  who  were 
exiled  from  Venezuela  and  live  in  Curacao,  and 
who  look  over  here  every  night  at  sunset  ?" 

Roddy  laughed  scornfully.  "Why,  that  is  the 
first  thing  they  tell  you,"  he  cried;  "the  purser 
points  them  out  from  the  ship,  and  tells  you— 

" Tells  you,  yes,"  cried  Peter  triumphantly,  "but 
I  saw  them.  As  we  left  the  harbor  they  were 
standing  on  the  cliff — three  women  in  white — 

24 


The  White  Mice 

looking  toward  Venezuela.  They  told  me  the 
father  of  the  two  girls  is  in  prison  here.  He 
was " 

"  Told  you,  yes,"  mimicked  Roddy,  "told  you  he 
was  in  prison.  I  have  seen  him  in  prison.  There 
is  the  prison." 

Roddy  pointed  at  the  flat,  yellow  fortress  that 
rose  above  them.  Behind  the  tiny  promontory  on 
which  the  fortress  crouched  was  the  town,  sepa 
rated  from  it  by  a  stretch  of  water  so  narrow  that 
a  golf-player,  using  the  quay  of  the  custom-house 
for  a  tee,  could  have  driven  a  ball  against  the  prison 
wall. 

Daily,  from  the  town,  Peter  had  looked  across 
the  narrow  harbor  toward  the  level  stretch  of  lime 
stone  rock  that  led  to  the  prison  gates,  and  had 
seen  the  petty  criminals,  in  chains,  splash  through 
the  pools  left  by  the  falling  tide,  had  watched  each 
pick  up  a  cask  of  fresh  water,  and,  guarded  by  the 
barefooted,  red-capped  soldiers,  drag  his  chains 
back  to  the  prison.  Now,  only  the  boat's-length 
from  them,  he  saw  the  sheer  face  of  the  fortress, 
where  it  slipped  to  depths  unknown  into  the  sea. 
It  impressed  him  most  unpleasantly.  It  had  the 
look  less  of  a  fortress  than  of  a  neglected  tomb. 
Its  front  was  broken  by  wind  and  waves,  its  sur 
face,  blotched  and  mildewed,  white  with  crusted 

25 


The  White  Mice 

salt,  hideous  with  an  eruption  of  dead  barnacles. 
As  each  wave  lifted  and  retreated,  leaving  the  po 
rous  wall  dripping  like  a  sponge,  it  disturbed  count 
less  crabs,  rock  scorpions  and  creeping,  leech-like 
things  that  ran  blindly  into  the  holes  in  the  lime 
stone;  and,  at  the  water-line,  the  sea-weed,  licking 
hungrily  at  the  wall,  rose  and  fell,  the  great  arms 
twisting  and  coiling  like  the  tentacles  of  many  devil 
fish. 

Distaste  at  what  he  saw,  or  the  fever  that  at 
sunset  drives  wise  Venezuelans  behind  closed 
shutters,  caused  Peter  to  shiver  slightly. 

For  some  moments,  with  grave  faces  and  in 
silence,  the  two  young  men  sat  motionless,  the 
mind  of  each  trying  to  conceive  what  life  must  be 
behind  those  rusted  bars  and  moss-grown  walls. 

"Somewhere,  buried  in  there,"  said  Roddy,  "is 
General  Rojas,  the  Lion  of  Valencia,  a  man,"  he 
added  sententiously,  "beloved  by  the  people.  He 
has  held  all  the  cabinet  positions,  and  been  am 
bassador  in  Europe,  and  Alvarez  is  more  afraid 
of  him  than  of  any  other  man  in  Venezuela.  And 
why  ?  For  the  simple  reason  that  he  is  good. 
When  the  people  found  out  what  a  blackguard 
Alvarez  is  they  begged  Rojas  to  run  for  President 
against  him,  and  Rojas  promised  that  if,  at  the  next 
election,  the  people  still  desired  it,  he  would  do  as 

26 


The  White  Mice 

they  wished.  That  night  Alvarez  hauled  him  out 
of  bed  and  put  him  in  there.  He  has  been  there 
two  years.  There  are  healthy  prisons,  but  Alvarez 
put  Rojas  in  this  one,  hoping  it  would  kill  him. 
He  is  afraid  to  murder  him  openly,  because  the 
people  love  him.  When  I  first  came  here  I  went 
through  the  fortiess  with  Vicenti,  the  prison  doctor,, 
on  a  sort  of  Seeing- Porto-Cabello  trip.  He  pointed! 
out  Rojas  to  me  through  the  bars,  same  as  you 
would  point  out  a  monument  to  a  dead  man. 
Rojas  was  sitting  at  a  table,  writing,  wrapped  in  a 
shawl.  The  cell  was  lit  by  a  candle,  and  I  give 
you  my  word,  although  it  was  blazing  hot  outside, 
the  place  was  as  damp  as  a  refrigerator.  When 
we  raised  our  lanterns  he  stood  up,  and  I  got  a  good 
look  at  him.  He  is  a  thin,  frail  little  man  with 
white  hair  and  big,  sad  eyes,  with  a  terribly  lonely 
look  in  them.  At  least  I  thought  so;  and  I  felt  so 
ashamed  at  staring  at  him  that  I  bowed  and 
salaamed  to  him  through  the  bars,  and  he  gave  me 
the  most  splendid  bow,  just  as  though  he  were  still 
an  ambassador  and  I  a  visiting  prince.  The 
doctor  had  studied  medicine  in  New  York,  so 
probably  he  talked  to  me  a  little  more  freely  than 
he  should.  He  says  he  warned  the  commandant 
of  the  fortress  that  unless  Rojas  is  moved  to  the 
upper  tier  of  cells,  above  the  water-line,  he  will  die 

29 


The  White  Mice 

in  six  months.  And  the  commandant  told  him 
not  to  meddle  in  affairs  of  state,  that  his  orders 
from  the  President  were  that  Rojas  'must  never 
again  feel  the  heat  of  the  sun." 

Peter  de  Peyster  exclaimed  profanely.  "Are 
there  no  men  in  this  country  ?"  he  growled.  "  Why 
don't  his  friends  get  him  out?" 

"They'd  have  to  get  themselves  out  first," 
explained  Roddy.  "Alvarez  made  a  clean  sweep 
of  it,  even  of  his  wife  and  his  two  daughters,  the 
women  you  saw.  He  exiled  them,  and  they  went 
to  Curasao.  They  have  plenty  of  money,  and 
they  could  have  lived  in  Paris  or  London.  He 
has  been  minister  in  both  places,  and  has  many 
friends  over  there,  but  even  though  they  cannot 
see  him  or  communicate  with  him,  they  settled 
down  in  Curacao  so  that  they  might  be  near 
him. 

"The  night  his  wife  was  ordered  out  of  the  coun 
try  she  was  allowed  to  say  good-by  to  him  in  the 
fortress,  and  there  she  arranged  that  every  night 
at  sunset  she  and  her  daughters  would  look  toward 
Port  Cabello,  and  he  would  look  toward  Curacao. 
The  women  bought  a  villa  on  the  cliff,  to  the  left 
of  the  harbor  of  Willemstad  as  you  enter,  and  the 
people,  the  Dutch  and  the  Spaniards  and  negroes, 
all  know  the  story,  and  when  they  see  the  three 

28 


The  White  Mice 

women  on  the  cliff  at  sunset  it  is  like  the  Angelus 
ringing,  and,  they  say,  the  people  pray  that  the 
women  may  see  him  again." 

For  a  long  time  Peter  de  Peyster  sat  scowling  at 
the  prison,  and  Roddy  did  not  speak,  for  it  is  not 
possible  to  room  with  another  man  through  two 
years  of  college  life  and  not  know  something  of 
his  moods. 

Then  Peter  leaned  toward  Roddy  and  stared 
into  his  face.  His  voice  carried  the  suggestion  of 
a  challenge. 

"I  hear  something!"  he  whispered. 

Whether  his  friend  spoke  in  metaphor  or  stated 
a  fact,  Roddy  could  not  determine.  He  looked  at 
him  questioningly,  and  raised  his  head  to  listen. 
Save  for  the  whisper  of  the  waves  against  the  base 
of  the  fortress,  there  was  no  sound. 

"What? "asked  Roddy. 

"I  hear  the  call  of  the  White  Mice,"  said  Peter 
de  Peyster. 

There  was  a  long  silence.  Then  Roddy  laughed 
softly,  his  eyes  half  closed;  the  muscles  around  the 
lower  jaw  drew  tight. 

Often  before  Peter  had  seen  the  look  in  his  face, 
notably  on  a  memorable  afternoon  when  Roddy 
went  to  the  bat,  with  three  men  on  base,  two  runs 
needed  to  win  the  championship  and  twenty 

29 


The  White  Mice 

thousand    shrieking   people   trying   to    break    his 
nerve. 

"I  will  go  as  far  as  you  like,"  said  Roddy. 

Porto  Cabello  is  laid  out  within  the  four  boun 
daries  of  a  square.  The  boundary  on  the  east  and 
the  boundary  on  the  north  of  the  square  meet  at  a 
point  that  juts  into  the  harbor.  The  wharves  and 
the  custom-house,  looking  toward  the  promontory 
on  which  stands  the  fortress  prison,  form  the 
eastern  side  of  the  square,  and  along  the  northern 
edge  are  the  Aquatic  Club,  with  its  veranda  over 
the  water,  the  hotel,  with  its  bath-rooms  underneath 
the  water,  and  farther  along  the  harbor  front 
houses  set  in  gardens.  As  his  work  was  in  the 
harbor,  Roddy  had  rented  one  of  these  houses.  It 
was  discreetly  hidden  by  mango-trees  and  palmetto, 
and  in  the  rear  of  the  garden,  steps  cut  in  the  living 
rock  led  down  into  the  water.  In  a  semicircle 
beyond  these  steps  was  a  fence  of  bamboo  stout 
enough  to  protect  a  bather  from  the  harbor  sharks 
and  to  serve  as  a  breakwater  for  the  launch. 

"When  I  rented  this  house,"  said  Roddy,  "I 
thought  I  took  it  because  I  could  eat  mangoes  while 
I  was  in  bathing  and  up  to  my  ears  in  water,  which 
is  the  only  way  you  can  eat  a  mango  and  keep  your 
self-respect.  But  I  see  now  that  Providence  sent 

30 


The  White  Mice 

me  here  because  we  can  steal  away  in  the  launch 
without  any  one  knowing  it." 

"  If  you  can  move  that  launch  its  own  length 
without  the  whole  town  knowing  it,"  commented 
Peter,  "you  will  have  to  chloroform  it.  It  barks 
like  a  machine  gun." 

"My  idea  was,"  explained  Roddy,  "that  we 
would  row  to  the  fortress.  After  we  get  the  General 
on  board,  the  more  it  sounds  like  a  machine  gun 
the  better." 

Since  their  return  in  the  launch,  and  during  din 
ner,  which  had  been  served  in  the  tiny  patio  under 
the  stars,  the  White  Mice  had  been  discussing  ways 
and  means.  A  hundred  plans  had  been  proposed, 
criticised,  rejected;  but  by  one  in  the  morning, 
when  the  candles  were  guttering  in  the  harbor 
breeze  and  the  Scotch  whiskey  had  shrunk  several 
inches,  the  conspirators  found  themselves  agreed. 
They  had  decided  they  could  do  nothing  until 
they  knew  in  which  cell  the  General  was  impris 
oned,  and  especially  the  position  of  his  window  in 
that  cell  that  looked  out  upon  the  harbor;  that, 
with  the  aid  of  the  launch,  the  rescue  must  be 
made  from  the  water,  and  that  the  rescuers  must 
work  from  the  outside.  To  get  at  Rojas  from  the 
inside  it  would  be  necessary  to  take  into  their  con 
fidence  some  one  of  the  prison  officials,  and  there 


The  White  Mice 

was  no  one  they  dared  to  trust.  Had  it  been  a 
question  of  money,  Roddy  pointed  out,  the  friends 
of  Rojas  would  already  have  set  him  free.  That 
they  had  failed  to  do  so  proved,  not  that  the  prison 
officials  were  incorruptible,  but  that  their  fear 
of  the  wrath  of  Alvarez  was  greater  than  their 
cupidity. 

"There  are  several  reasons  why  we  should  not 
attempt  to  bribe  any  one,"  said  Roddy,  "and  the 
best  one  is  the  same  reason  the  man  gave  for  not 
playing  poker.  To-morrow  I  will  introduce  you 
to  Vicenti,  the  prison  doctor,  and  we'll  ask  him  to 
take  us  over  the  prison,  and  count  the  cells,  and 
try  to  mark  the  one  in  which  we  see  Rojas.  Per 
haps  we'd  better  have  the  doctor  in  to  dinner.  He 
likes  to  tell  you  what  a  devil  of  a  fellow  he  was  in 
New  York,  and  you  must  pretend  to  believe  he 
was.  We  might  also  have  the  captain  of  the  port, 
and  get  him  to  give  us  permission  to  take  the 
launch  out  at  night.  This  port  is  still  under 
martial  law,  and  after  the  sunset  gun  no  boat  may 
move  about  the  harbor.  Then  we  must  have 
some  harpoons  made  and  get  out  that  headlight, 
and  spear  eels." 

"You  couldn't  spear  an  eel,"  objected  Peter, 
"and  if  you  could  I  wouldn't  eat  it." 

"You  don't  have  to  eat  it!", explained  Roddy; 
32 


The  White  Mice 

"the  eels  are  only  an  excuse.  We  want  to  get  the 
sentries  used  to  seeing  us  flashing  around  the  har 
bor  at  night.  If  we  went  out  there  without  some 
excuse,  and  without  permission,  exploding  like  a 
barrel  of  fire-crackers,  they'd  sink  us.  So  we  must 
say  we  are  out  spearing  eels." 

The  next  morning  Roddy  showed  a  blacksmith 
how  to  hammer  out  tridents  for  spearing  eels,  and 
that  night  those  people  who  lived  along  the  harbor 
front  were  kept  awake  by  quick-fire  explosions,  and 
the  glare  in  their  windows  of  a  shifting  search-light. 
But  at  the  end  of  the  week  the  launch  of  the  Gringos, 
as  it  darted  noisily  in  and  out  of  the  harbor,  and 
carelessly  flashed  its  search-light  on  the  walls  of 
the  fortress,  came  to  be  regarded  less  as  a  nuisance 
than  a  blessing.  For  with  noble  self-sacrifice  the 
harbor  eels  lent  themselves  to  the  deception.  By 
hundreds  they  swarmed  in  front  of  the  dazzling 
headlight;  by  dozens  they  impaled  themselves 
upon  the  tines  of  the  pitchforks.  So  expert  did 
Roddy  and  Peter  become  in  harpooning,  that  soon 
they  were  able  each  morning  to  send  to  the  captain 
of  the  port,  to  the  commandant,  to  the  prison 
doctor,  to  every  citizen  who  objected  to  having  his 
sleep  punctuated,  a  basket  of  eels.  It  was  noticed 
that  at  intervals  the  engine  of  the  launch  would 
not  act  properly,  and  the  gringos  were  seen  pro- 

33 


The  White  Mice 

pelling  the  boat  with  oars.  Also,  the  light  often 
went  out,  leaving  them  in  darkness.  They  spoke 
freely  of  these  accidents  with  bitter  annoyance, 
and  people  sympathized  with  them. 

One  night,  when  they  were  seated  plotting  in  the 
patio,  Roddy  was  overwhelmed  with  sudden  mis 
givings. 

"Wouldn't  it  be  awful,"  he  cried,  "if,  after  we 
have  cut  the  bars  and  shown  him  the  rope  ladder 
and  the  launch,  he  refuses  to  come  with  us!" 

"Is  that  all  that's  worrying  you  ?"  asked  Peter. 
'"How  is  he  to  know?"  persisted  Roddy,  "that 
we  are  not  paid  by  Alvarez,  that  we  aren't  leading 
him  on  to  escape  so  that  the  sentries  can  have  an 
excuse  to  shoot  him.  That  has  been  done  before. 
It  is  an  old  trick,  like  killing  a  man  in  his  cell  and 
giving  out  that  he  committed  suicide.  The  first 
thing  Rojas  will  ask  us  is,  who  sends  us,  and  where 
are  our  credentials." 

"I  guess  he  will  take  his  chance,"  said  Peter. 
"  He'll  see  we  are  not  Venezuelans." 

"That  is  the  very  thing  that  will  make  him  re 
fuse,"  protested  Roddy.  "Why  should  he  trust 
himself  to  strangers — to  gringos  ?  No,  I  tell  you, 
we  can't  go  on  without  credentials."  He  lowered 
his  voice  and  glanced  suspiciously  into  the  dark 
corners  of  the  Patio.  "  And  the  only  people  who 

34 


The  White  Mice 

can  give  them  to  us,"  he  added,  tapping  impres 
sively  upon  the  table,  "live  in  Curacao." 

With  sudden  enthusiasm  Peter  de  Peyster  sat 
upright. 

"I  am  on  in  that  scene,"  he  protested. 

"  I  thought  of  it  first,"  said  Roddy. 

"We  will  toss,"  compromised  Peter.  "The 
head  of  Bolivar,  you  go.  The  arms  of  Venezuela, 
I  go,  and  you  stay  here  and  catch  eels." 

The  silver  peso  rang  upon  the  table,  and  Roddy 
exclaimed  jubilantly: 

"Heads!  I  go!"  he  cried.  But  the  effort  of 
Peter  to  show  he  was  not  disappointed  was  so 
unconvincing  that  Roddy  instantly  relented. 

"  We  had  better  both  go ! "  he  amended.  ( '  Your 
headwork  is  better  than  mine,  so  you  come,  too. 
And  if  you  give  me  the  right  signals,  I'll  try  to  put 
the  ball  where  you  can  reach  it." 

As  though  in  his  eagerness  he  would  set  forth  on 
the  instant,  Roddy  sprang  to  his  feet  and  stood 
smiling  down  at  Peter,  his  face  lit  with  pleasurable 
excitement.  Then  suddenly  his  expression  grew 
thoughtful. 

"Peter,"  he  inquired,  "how  old  do  you  think 
the  daughters  are?" 


35 


II 

THE  next  day  Roddy  and  Peter  sailed  for 
Willemstad,  the  chief  port  and  the  capital 
of  the  tiny  island  colony  of  Holland.  In  twelve 
hours  they  had  made  their  land-fall  and  were 
entering  the  harbor  mouth.  The  sun  was  just 
rising,  and  as  its  rays  touched  the  cliff  from  which, 
twelve  hours  later,  Senora  Rojas  and  her  daughters 
would  look  toward  Porto  Cabello,  they  felt  a  thrill 
of  possible  adventure. 

Roddy  knew  that,  as  a  refuge  for  revolutionists 
exiled  from  Venezuela,  Willemstad  was  policed 
with  secret  agents  of  Alvarez,  and  he  knew  that 
were  these  spies  to  learn  that  during  his  visit  either 
he  or  Peter  had  called  upon  the  family  of  Rojas 
they  would  be  reported  to  Caracas  as  "suspect," 
and  the  chance  of  their  saving  the  Lion  of  Valencia 
would  be  at  an  end.  So  it  became  them  to  be 
careful. 

Before  leaving  Porto  Cabello  Roddy  had  told 
McKildrick,  the  foreman  of  the  Construction  Com 
pany's  work  there,  that  some  boxes  of  new  machin 
ery  and  supplies  for  his  launch  had  gone  astray 

36 


The  White  Mice 

and  that  he  wished  permission  to  cross  to  Curacao 
to  look  them  up.  McKildrick  believed  the  missing 
boxes  were  only  an  excuse  for  a  holiday,  but  he  was 
not  anxious  to  assert  his  authority  over  the  son  and 
heir  of  the  F.  C.  C.,  and  so  gave  Roddy  his  leave 
of  absence.  And  at  the  wharf  at  Porto  Cabello, 
while  waiting  for  the  ship  to  weigh  anchor,  Roddy 
had  complained  to  the  custom-house  officials  at 
having  to  cross  to  Curasao.  He  gave  them  the 
same  reason  for  the  trip,  and  said  it  was  most 
annoying. 

In  order  to  be  consistent,  when,  on  landing  at 
Willemstad,  three  soiled  individuals  approached 
Roddy  and  introduced  themselves  as  guides,  he 
told  them  the  same  story.  He  was  looking  for 
boxes  of  machinery  invoiced  for  Porto  Cabello;  he 
feared  they  had  been  carried  on  to  La  Guayra  or 
dropped  at  Willemstad.  Could  they  direct  him 
to  the  office  of  the  steamship  line  and  to  the  Amer 
ican  Consul  ?  One  of  the  soiled  persons  led  him 
across  the  quay  to  the  office  of  the  agent,  and  while 
Roddy  repeated  his  complaint,  listened  so  eagerly 
that  to  both  Peter  and  Roddy  it  was  quite  evident 
the  business  of  the  guide  was  not  to  disclose 
Curacao  to  strangers,  but  to  learn  what  brought 
strangers  to  Curasao.  The  agent  was  only  too 
delighted  to  serve  the  son  of  one  "who  in  money 

37 


The  White  Mice 

meant  so  much  to  the  line.  For  an  hour  he  searched 
his  books,  his  warehouse  and  the  quays.  But, 
naturally,  the  search  was  unsuccessful,  and  with 
most  genuine  apologies  Roddy  left  him,  saying  that 
at  the  office  of  the  American  Consul  he  would 
continue  his  search  for  the  lost  boxes. 

Meanwhile,  Peter,  in  his  character  of  tourist,  en 
gaged  rooms  for  them  at  the/  Hotel  Commercial, 
and  started  off  alone  to  explore  the  town. 

At  the  Consulate,  the  soiled  person  listened  to  the 
beginning  of  Roddy's  speech,  and  then,  apparently 
satisfied  he  had  learned  all  that  was  necessary,  re 
treated  to  the  outer  office. 

The  Consul  promptly  rose  and  closed  the  door. 

The  representative  of  the  United  States  was  an 
elderly  man,  of  unusual  height,  with  searching, 
honest  blue  eyes  under  white  eyebrows.  His  hair 
was  white,  his  beard,  worn  long,  was  white,  and 
his  clothes  were  of  white  duck. 

His  name  was  Sylvanus  Cobb  Codman,  with  the 
added  title  of  captain,  which  he  had  earned  when, 
as  a  younger  man,  he  had  been  owner  and  master 
of  on$  of  the  finest  whalers  that  ever  cleared  'the 
harbor  of  New  Bedford.  During  his  cruises  he 
had  found  the  life  of  the  West  Indies  much  to  his 
liking,  and  when,  at  the  age  of  fifty,  he  ceased  to 
follow  the  sea,  he  had  asked  for  an  appointment  as 

38 


The  White  Mice 

consul  to  Porto  Cabello.  Since  then,  except  when 
at  home  on  leave  at  Fairhaven,  he  had  lived  in  the 
Spanish  Americas,  and  at  many  ports  had  served 
the  State  Department  faithfully  and  well.  In  spite 
of  his  age,  Captain  Codman  gave  a  pleasant  im 
pression  of  strength  and  nervous  energy.  Roddy 
felt  that  the  mind  and  body  of  the  man  were  as 
clean  as  his  clothes,  and  that  the  Consul  was  one 
who  could  be  trusted. 

As  Captain  Codman  seated  himself  behind  his 
desk  he  was  frowning. 

"You  must  look  out  for  that  guide,"  he  said. 
"  He  is  from  Caracas.  He  is  an  agent  of  Alvarez. 
It  just  shows,"  he  went  on  impatiently,  "what 
little  sense  these  spies  have,  that  he  didn't  recog 
nize  your  name.  The  Forrester  Construction 
Company  is  certainly  well  enough  known.  That 
the  son  of  your  father  should  be  spied  on  is 
ridiculous." 

"Then,  again,"  said  Roddy  mysteriously,  "may 
be  it  isn't.  I  haven't  got  such  a  clean  bill  of  health. 
That's  why  I  came  to  you."  With  an  air  which  he 
considered  was  becoming  in  a  conspirator,  he 
lowered  his  voice.  "May  I  ask,  sir,"  he  said,  "if 
you  are  acquainted  with  Senora  Rojas,  who  is  in 
exile  here  ?" 

The  blue  eyes  of  the  Consul  opened  slightly,  but 
39 


The  White  Mice 

he  answered  with  directness,  "I  am.  I  have  that 
honor." 

"And  with  her  daughters?"  added  Roddy 
anxiously. 

With  dignity  the  Consul  inclined  his  head. 

"I  want  very  much  to  meet  them — her,"  cor 
rected  Roddy.  "I  am  going  to  set  her  husband 
free!" 

For  a  moment,  as  though  considering  whether 
he  were  not  confronted  by  a  madman,  the  Consul 
regarded  Roddy  with  an  expression  of  concern. 
Then,  in  the  deprecatory  tone  of  one  who  believes 
he  has  not  heard  aright,  he  asked,  "You  are  going 
to  do — what?19 

"I  am  going  to  help  General  Rojas  to  escape," 
Roddy  went  on  briskly — "  myself  and  another  fel 
low.  But  we  are  afraid  he  won't  trust  himself  to 
us,  so  I  am  over  here  to  get  credentials  from  his 
wife.  But,  you  see,  I  have  first  got  to  get  creden 
tials  to  her.  So  I  came  to  ask  you  if  you'd  sort  of 
vouch  for  me,  tell  her  who  I  am — and  all  that." 

The  Consul  was  staring  at  him  so  strangely  that 
Roddy  believed  he  had  not  made  himself  fully 
understood. 

"You  know  what  I  mean,"  he  explained, 
"Credentials,  something  he  will  know  came  from 
her — a  ring  or  a  piece  of  paper  saying,  'These  are 

40 


The  White  Mice 

friends.  Go  with  them.'  Or  a  lock  of  her  hair, 
or — or— you  know,"  urged  Roddy  in  embarrass 
ment — "  credentials." 

"Are  you  jesting  ?"  asked  the  older  man  coldly. 

Roddy  felt  genuinely  uncomfortable.  He  was 
conscious  he  was  blushing.  "Certainly  not,"  he 
protested.  "It  is  serious  enough,  isn't  it  ?" 

The  voice  of  the  Consul  dropped  to  a  whisper. 

"Who  sent  you  here  ?"  he  demanded.  Without 
waiting  for  an  answer  he  suddenly  rose.  Moving 
with  surprising  lightness  to  the  door,  he  jerked  it 
open.  But  if  by  this  manoeuvre  he  expected  to 
precipitate  the  spy  into  the  room,  he  was  disap 
pointed,  for  the  outer  office  was  empty.  The 
Consul  crossed  it  quickly  to  the  window.  He  saw 
the  spy  disappearing  into  a  neighboring  wine 
shop. 

When  Captain  Codman  again  entered  the  inner 
office  he  did  not  return  to  his  seat,  but,  after  closing 
the  door,  as  though  to  shut  Roddy  from  the  only 
means  of  escape,  he  stood  with  his  back  against  it. 
He  was  very  much  excited. 

"Mr.  Forrester,"  he  began  angrily,  "I  don't 
know  who  is  back  of  you,  and,"  he  cried  violently, 
"I  don't  mean  to  know.  I  have  been  American 
Consul  in  these  Central  American  countries  for 
fifteen  years,  and  I  have  never  mixed  myself  up 

41 


The  White  Mice 

with  what  doesn't  concern  me.  I  represent  the 
United  States  government.  I  don't  represent  any 
thing  else.  I  am  not  down  here  to  assist  any  cor 
poration,  no  matter  how  rich,  any  junta,  any 
revolutionary  party— 

"Here!  Wait !"  cried  Roddy  anxiously.  "You 
don't  understand!  I  am  not  a  revolution.  There 
is  only  me  and  Peter." 

"What  is  that?"  snapped  the  Consul  savagely. 
The  exclamation  was  like  the  crack  of  a  flapping 

jib. 

"You  see,  it's  this  way,"  began  Roddy.  He 
started  to  explain  elaborately.  "Peter  and  I 
belong  to  the  Secret  Order " 

"Stop!"  thundered  the  Consul.  "I  tell  you  I 
won't  listen  to  you!" 

The  rebuff  was  most  embarrassing.  Ignorant 
as  to  how  he  had  oifended  the  Consui,  and  uncertain 
as  to  whether  the  Consul  had  not  offended  him, 
Roddy  helplessly  rubbed  his  handkerchief  over 
his  perplexed  and  perspiring  countenance.  He 
wondered  if,  as  a  conspirator,  he  had  not  been 
lacking  in  finesse,  if  he  had  not  ueen  too  com 
municative. 

In  the  corner  of  the  room,  in  a  tin  cage,  a  great 
green  parrot,  with  its  head  cocked  on  one  side,  had 
been  regarding  Roddy  with  mocking,  malevolent 

42 


The  White  Mice 

eyes.  Now,  to  further  add  to  his  discomfiture,  it 
suddenly  emitted  a  chuckle,  human  and  con 
temptuous.  As  though  choking  with  hidden 
laughter,  the  bird  gurgled  feebly,  "Polly,  Polly." 
And  then,  in  a  tone  of  stern  disapproval,  added 
briskly,  "You  talk  too  much!"  At  this  flank  at 
tack  Roddy  flushed  indignantly.  He  began  to 
wish  he  had  brought  Peter  with  him,  to  give  him 
the  proper  signals. 

With  his  hands  clinched  behind  him,  and  tossing 
his  white  beard  from  side  to  side,  the  Consul  paced 
the  room. 

"So  that  is  it!"  he  muttered.  "  That  is  why  he 
left  Paris.  That  explains  the  Restaurador.  Of 
course,"  he  added  indignantly  as  he  passed  Roddy, 
throwing  the  words  at  him  over  his  shoulder,  "that 
is  where  the  money  came  from!" 

Roddy,  now  thoroughly  exasperated,  protested 
warmly:  "Look  here,"  he  cried,  "if  you  aren't 
careful  you'll  tell  me  something  you  don't  want  me 
to  know." 

The  Consul  came  to  an  instant  pause.  From 
his  great  height  he  stood  staring  at  his  visitor,  the 
placid  depths  of  his  blue  eyes  glowering  with  doubt 
and  excitement. 

"  I  give  you  my  word,"  continued  Roddy  sulkily, 
"I  don't  know  what  you  are  talking  about." 

43 


The  White  Mice 

"Do  you  mean  to  tell  me,"  demanded  the  old 
man  truculently,  "that  you  are  not  Mr.  Forrester's 
son?" 

"Certainly  I  am  his  son,"  cried  Roddy. 

"Then,"  returned  the  Consul,  "perhaps  you 
will  deny  he  is  suing  Alverez  for  two  million  dollars 
gold,  you  will  deny  that  he  might  get  it  if  Alvarez 
were  thrown  out,  you  will  deny  that  a — a  certain 
person  might  ratify  the  concession,  and  pay  your 
father  for  the  harbor  improvements  he  has  already 
made?  You  see!"  exclaimed  the  Consul  trium 
phantly.  "And  these  missing  boxes!"  he  cried  as 
though  following  up  an  advantage,  "  shall  I  tell  you 
what  is  in  them  ?"  He  lowered  his  voice.  "Cart 
ridges  and  rifles!  Do  you  deny  it  ?" 

Roddy  found  that  at  last  he  was  on  firm  ground. 

"Of  course  I  deny  it,"  he  answered,  "because 
there  are  no  boxes.  They're  only  an  invention  of 
mine  to  get  me  to  Curacao.  Now, you  let  me  talk." 

The  Consul  retreated  behind  his  desk,  and  as 
Roddy  spoke  regarded  him  sternly  and  with  open 
suspicion.  In  concluding  his  story  Roddy  said: 
"We  have  no  other  object  in  saving  General  Rojas 
than  that  he's  an  old  man,  that  he's  dying,  and  that 
Peter  and  I  can't  sleep  of  nights  for  thinking  of  him 
lying  in  a  damp  cell,  not  three  hundred  yards  from 
us,  coughing  himself  to  death." 

44 


The  White  Mice 

At  the  words  the  eyes  of  the  Consul  closed  quick 
ly;  he  pressed  his  great,  tanned,  freckled  fingers 
nervously  against  his  lip.  But  instantly  the  stern 
look  of  the  cross-examiner  returned.  "Go  on," 
he  commanded. 

"If  we  have  cut  in  on  some  one's  private  wire," 
continued  Roddy,  "it's  an  accident;  and  when  you 
talk  about  father  recovering  two  million  dollars 
you  are  telling  me  things  I  don't  know.  Father  is 
not  a  chatty  person.  He  has  often  said  to  me  that 
the  only  safe  time  to  talk  of  what  you  are  doing,  or 
are  going  to  do,  is  when  you  have  done  it.  So,  if 
the  Venezuelan  government  owes  the  Forrester 
Construction  Company  two  millions  and  father's 
making  a  fight  for  it,  I  am  probably  the  last  person 
in  the  world  he  would  talk  to  about  it.  All  I  know 
is  that  he  pays  me  twenty  dollars  a  week  to  plant 
buoys.  But  out  of  working  hours  I  can  do  as  I 
please,  and  my  friend  and  I  please  to  get  General 
Rojas  out  of  prison."  Roddy  rose,  smiling 
pleasantly.  "So,  if  you  won't  introduce  me  to 
Senora  Rojas,"  he  concluded,  "I  guess  I  will  have 
to  introduce  myself." 

With  an  angry  gesture  the  Consul  motioned  him 
to  be  seated.  From  his  manner  it  was  evident 
that  Captain  Codman  was  uncertain  whether 
Roddy  was  or  was  not  to  be  believed,  that,  in  his 

45 


The  White  Mice 

perplexity,  he  was  fearful  of  saying  too  much  or 
too  little. 

"Either,"  the  old  man  exclaimed  angrily,  "you 
are  a  very  clever  young  man,  or  you  are  extremely 
ignorant.  Either,"  he  went  on  with  increasing 
indignation,  "they  have  sent  you  here  to  test  me, 
or  you  know  nothing,  and  you  are  blundering  in 
where  other  men  are  doing  work.  If  you  know 
nothing  you  are  going  to  upset  the  plans  of  those 
men.  In  any  case  I  will  have  nothing  further  to 
do  with  you.  I  wash  my  hands  of  you.  Good- 
morning." 

Then,  as  though  excusing  himself,  he  added 
sharply,  "Besides,  you  talk  too  much." 

Roddy,  deeply  hurt,  answered  with  equal 
asperity : 

"That  is  what  your  parrot  thinks.  Maybe  you 
are  both  wrong." 

When  Roddy  had  reached  the  top  of  the  stairs 
leading  to  the  street,  and  was  on  the  point  of  dis 
appearing,  the  Consul  called  sharply  to  him  and 
followed  into  the  hall. 

"Before  you  go,"  the  old  man  whispered  ear 
nestly,  "  I  want  you  clearly  to  understand  my  posi 
tion  toward  the  Rojas  family.  When  I  was  Consul 
in  Porto  Cabello,  General  Rojas  became  the  best 
friend  I  had.  Since  I  have  been  stationed  here  it 

46 


The  White  Mice 

has  been  my  privilege  to  be  of  service  to  his  wife. 
His  daughters  treat  me  as  kindly  as  though  I 
were  their  own  grandfather.  No  man  on  earth 
could  wish  General  Rojas  free  as  much  as  I  wish 
it."  The  voice  of  Captain  Codman  trembled. 
For  an  instant  his  face,  as  though  swept  with  sud 
den  pain,  twisted  in  strange  lines.  "No  one,"  he 
protested,  "could  wish  to  serve  him  as  I  do,  but 
I  warn  you  if  you  go  on  with  this  you  will  land  in 
prison  yourself,  and  you  will  bring  General  Rojas 
to  his  death.  Take  my  advice — and  go  back  to 
Porto  Cabello,  and  keep  out  of  politics.  Or,  what 
is  better — go  home.  You  are  too  young  to  under 
stand  the  Venezuelans,  and,  if  you  stay  here,  you 
are  going  to  make  trouble  for  many  people.  For 
your  father,  and  for — for  many  people." 

As  though  with  the  hope  of  finally  dissuading 
Roddy,  he  added  ominously,  "And  these  Venezue 
lans  have  a  nasty  trick  of  sticking  a  knife " 

"Oh,  you  go  to  the  devil!"  retorted  Roddy. 

As  he  ran  down  the  dark  stairs  and  out  into  the 
glaring  street  he  heard  faintly  the  voice  of  the 
parrot  pursuing  him,  with  mocking  and  triumphant 
jeers. 

The  Consul  returned  slowly  to  his  office,  and, 
sinking  into  his  chair,  buried  his  face  in  his  great, 
knotty  hands  and  bent  his  head  upon  the  table. 

47 


The  White  Mice 

A  ray  of  sunshine,  filtering  through  the  heavy 
Venetian  blinds,  touched  the  white  hair  and  turned 
it  into  silver. 

For  a  short  space,  save  for  the  scratching  of  the 
parrot  at  the  tin  bars  of  his  cage,  and  the  steady 
drip,  drip  of  the  water-jar,  there  was  no  sound; 
then  the  voice  of  the  sea-captain,  as  many  times 
before  it  had  been  raised  in  thanksgiving  in  the 
meeting-house  in  Fairhaven,  and  from  the  deck 
of  his  ship  as  she  drifted  under  the  Southern  Cross, 
was  lifted  in  entreaty.  The  blue  eyes,  as  the  old 
man  raised  them,  were  wet;  his  bronzed  fists 
fiercely  interlocked. 

"Oh,  Thou/'  he  prayed,  "who  walked  beside  me 
on  the  waters,  make  clear  to  me  what  I  am  to  do. 
I  am  old,  but  I  pray  Thee  to  let  me  live  to  see  Thine 
enemies  perish,  to  see  those  who  love  Thee  re 
united  once  more,  happy,  at  home.  If,  in  Thy 
wisdom,  even  as  Thou  sent  forth  David  against 
Goliath,  Thou  hast  sent  this  child  against  Thine 
enemies,  make  that  clear  to  me.  His  speech  is 
foolish,  but  his  heart  seems  filled  with  pity.  What 
he  would  do,  I  would  do.  But  the  way  is  very 
dark.  If  I  serve  this  boy,  may  I  serve  Thee  ? 
Teach  me!" 

Outside  the  Consulate,  Roddy  found  his  convoy, 
the  guide,  waiting  for  him,  and,  to  allay  the  sus- 

48 


The  White  Mice 

picion  of  that  person,  gave  him  a  cable  to  put  on 
the  wire  for  McKildrick.  It  read:  "No  trace  of 
freight;  it  may  come  next  steamer;  will  wait." 

He  returned  to  the  agent  of  the  line  and  told 
him  he  now  believed  the  freight  had  been  left 
behind  in  New  York  and  that  he  would  remain  in 
Willemstad  until  the  arrival  of  the  next  steamer, 
which  was  due  in  three  days. 

At  the  hotel  he  found  Peter  anxiously  awaiting 
him.  Having  locked  themselves  in  the  room  the 
two  conspirators  sat  down  to  talk  things  over. 
From  what  had  escaped  the  Consul,  Roddy  pointed 
out  certain  facts  that  seemed  evident:  Alvarez  had 
not  paid  the  Forrester  Construction  Company,  or, 
in  a  word,  his  father,  for  the  work  already  com 
pleted  in  the  last  two  years.  His  father,  in  order 
to  obtain  his  money,  was  interested  in  some  scheme 
to  get  rid  of  Alvarez  and  in  his  place  put  some  one 
who  would  abide  by  the  terms  of  the  original  con 
cession.  This  some  one  might  be  Rojas,  and 
then,  again,  might  not.  As  Peter  suggested,  the 
Construction  Company  might  prefer  to  back  a 
candidate  for  president,  who,  while  he  might  not 
be  so  welcome  to  the  Venezuelans,  would  be  more 
amenable  to  the  wishes  of  the  F.  C.  C.  It  also 
would  probably  prefer  to  assist  a  man  younger  than 
Rojas,  one  more  easily  controlled,  perhaps  one 

49 


The  White  Mice 

less  scrupulously  honest.  It  also  seemed  likely 
that  if,  by  revolution,  the  men  of  the  Construction 
Company  intended  to  put  in  the  field  a  candidate 
of  their  own,  they  would  choose  one  with  whom 
they  could  consult  daily,  not  one  who,  while  he 
might  once  have  been  a  popular  idol,  had  for  the 
last  two  years  been  buried  from  the  sight  of  man, 
and  with  whom  it  now  was  impossible  to  com 
municate. 

The  longe.  they  discussed  the  matter  the  more 
sure  they  became  that  Rojas  could  not  be  the  man 
for  whom  the  Construction  Company  was  plotting. 

"If  Rojas  isn't  the  choice  of  the  F.  C.  C.,"  ar 
gued  Roddy,  "his  being  free,  or  in  prison,  does  not 
interest  them  in  the  least.  While,  on  the  other 
hand,  if  Rojas  is  the  candidate  father  is  backing, 
the  sooner  he  is  out  of  prison  the  better  for  every 
body." 

"Anyway,"  added  Roddy,  with  the  airy  fatalism 
of  one  who  nails  his  banner  to  the  mast,  "if  my 
father  is  going  to  lose  two  millions  because  you  and 
I  set  an  old  man  free,  then  father  is  going  to  lose 
two  millions." 

Having  arrived  at  this  dutiful  conclusion  Roddy 
proposed  that,  covertly,  in  the  guise  of  innocent 
sight-seers,  they  should  explore  the  town,  and  from 
a  distance  reconnoitre  the  home  of  Senora  Roias. 

50 


The  White  Mice 

They  accordingly  hired  one  of  the  public  landaus 
of  Willemstad  and  told  the  driver  to  show  them  the 
places  of  interest. 

But  in  Willemstad  there  are  no  particular  places 
of  interest.  It  is  the  place  itself  that  is  of  interest. 
It  is  riot  like  any  other  port  in  the  world. 

"It  used  to  be,"  Roddy  pointed  out,  "that  every 
comic  opera  had  one  act  on  a  tropical  island. 
Then  some  fellow  discovered  Holland,  and  now  all 
comic  operas  run  to  blonde  girls  in  patched 
breeches  and  wooden  shoes,  and  the  back  drops  are 
'Rotterdam,  Amsterdam,  any  damn  place  at  all.' 
But  this  town  combines  both  the  ancient  and 
modern  schools.  Its  scene  is  from  Miss  Hook  of 
Holland,  and  the  girls  are  out  of  Bandanna  Land." 

Willemstad  is  compact  and  tiny,  with  a  minia 
ture  governor  and  palace.  It  is  painted  with  all 
the  primary  colors,  and,  though  rain  seldom 
falls  on  Curacao  Island,  it  is  as  clean  as  though 
the  minute  before  it  had  been  wrashed  by  a 
spring  shower  and  put  out  in  the  sun  to  dry. 
Saint  Ann  Bay,  which  is  the  harbor  of  Willemstad, 
is  less  of  a  bay  than  a  canal.  On  entering  it  a 
captain  from  his  bridge  can  almost  see  what  the 
people  in  the  houses  on  either  bank  are  eating  for 
breakfast.  These  houses  are  modeled  like  those 
that  border  the  canals  of  The  Hague.  They  have 

51 


The  White  Mice 

the  same  peaked  roofs,  the  front  running  in  steps 
to  a  point,  the  flat  facades,  the  many  stones.  But 
they  are  painted  in  the  colors  of  tropical  Spanish- 
America,  in  pink,  yellow,  cobalt  blue,  and  behind 
the  peaked  points  are  scarlet  tiles.  Under  the 
southern  sun  they  are  so  brilliant,  so  theatrical,  so 
unreal,  that  they  look  like  the  houses  of  a  Noah's 
Ark  fresh  from  the  toy  shop.  There  are  two 
towns:  Willemstad,  and,  joined  to  it  by  bridges, 
Otrabanda.  It  is  on  the  Willemstad  side  that  the 
ships  tie  up,  and  where,  from  the  deck  to  the  steam 
er,  one  can  converse  quite  easily  with  the  Monsanto 
brothers  in  their  drawing-room,  or  with  the  politi 
cal  exiles  on  the  balconies  of  the  Hotel  Commercial. 
The  streets  are  narrow  and,  like  the  streets  of 
Holland,  paved  witn  round  cobblestones  as  clean 
as  a  pan  of  rolls  just  ready  for  the  oven.  Willem 
stad  is  the  cleanest  port  in  the  West  Indies.  It  is 
the  Spotless  Town  of  the  tropics.  Beyond  the 
town  are  the  orange  plantations,  and  the  favorite 
drive  is  from  Willemstad  through  these  orange 
trees  around  the  inner  harbor,  or  the  Schottegat, 
to  Otrabanda,  and  so  back  across  the  drawbridge 
of  Good  Queen  Emma  into  Willemstad.  It  is  a 
drive  of  little  over  two  hours,  and  Roddy  and  Peter 
found  it  altogether  charming. 

About  three  miles  outside  of  Willemstad  they 
52 


The  White  Mice 

came  upon  the  former  home  of  a  rich  Spanish 
planter,  which  had  been  turned  into  a  restaurant, 
and  which,  once  the  Groot  du  Crot,  was  now  the 
Cafe  Ducrot.  There  is  little  shade  on  the  Island 
of  Curacao  and  the  young  men  dived  into  the 
shadows  of  the  Ducrot  garden  as  into  a  cool  bath. 
Through  orange  trees  and  spreading  palmettos, 
flowering  bushes  and  a  tangle  of  vines,  they  fol 
lowed  paths  of  pebbles,  and  wandered  in  a  maze 
in  which  they  lost  themselves. 

"It  is  the  enchanted  garden  of  the  sleeping 
princess,"  said  Peter.  "And  there  are  her  sleeping 
attendants,"  he  added,  pointing  at  two  waiters 
who  were  slumbering  peacefully,  their  arms 
stretched  out  upon  the  marble-top  tables. 

It  seemed  heartless  to  awaken  them,  and  the 
young  men  explored  further  until  they  found  a 
stately,  rambling  mansion  where  a  theatrical  land 
lord  with  much  rubbing  of  his  hands  brought 
them  glasses  and  wonderful  Holland  gin. 

"We  must  remember  the  Cafe  Ducrot,"  said 
Roddy,  as  they  drove  on.  "It  is  so  quiet  and 
peaceful." 

Afterward  they  recalled  his  having  said  this,  and 
the  fact  caused  them  much  amusement. 

From  the  Cafe  Ducrot  the  road  ran  between  high 
bushes  and  stunted  trees  that  shaded  it  in  on  either 

53 


The  White  Mice 

side;  but  could  not  shade  it  completely.  Then  it 
turned  toward  Otrabanda  along  the  cliff  that  over 
looks  the  sea. 

On  the  land  side  was  a  wall  of  dusky  mesquite 
bushes,  bound  together  by  tangled  vines,  with  here 
and  there  bending  above  them  a  wind-tortured 
cocoanut  palm.  On  the  east  side  of  the  road,  at 
great  distances  apart,  were  villas  surrounded  by 
groves  of  such  hardy  trees  and  plants  as  could 
survive  the  sweep  of  the  sea  winds.  "If  we  ask 
the  driver,"  whispered  Roddy,  "who  lives  in  each 
house,  he  won't  suspect  we  are  looking  for  any 
one  house  in  particular."  Accordingly,  as  they 
drew  up  even  with  a  villa  they  rivaled  each  other 
in  exclaiming  over  its  beauty.  And  the  driver,  his 
local  pride  becoming  more  and  more  gratified,  gave 
them  the  name  of  the  owner  of  the  house  and  his 
history. 

As  he  approached  a  villa  all  of  white  stucco, 
with  high,  white  pillars  rising  to  the  flat  roof  of  the 
tropics,  he  needed  no  prompting,  but,  with  the  air 
of  one  sure  of  his  effect;  pulled  his  horses  to  a  halt 
and  pointed  with  his  whip. 

:*That  house,  gentle-mans,"  he  said,  "belongs 
to  Senora  Rojas."  Though  the  house  was  one 
hundred  yards  from  the  road,  as  though  fearful  of 
being  overheard,  the  negro  spoke  in  an  impressive 

54 


The  White  Mice 

whisper.  "She  is  the  lady  of  General  Rojas.  He 
is  a  great  General,  gentle-mans,  and  now  he  be  put 
in  prison.  President  Alvarez,  he  put  that  General 
Rojas  in  prison,  down  in  the  water,  an'  he  chain 
him  to  the  rock,  an'  he  put  that  lady  in  exile. 
President  Alvarez  he  be  very  bad  man. 

"Every  day  at  six  o'clock  that  lady  and  the 
young  ladies  they  stand  on  that  cliff  and  pray  for 
that  General  Rojas.  You  like  me  to  drive  you, 
gentle-mans,  out  here  at  six  o'clock,"  he  inquired 
insinuatingly,  "an'  see  those  ladies  pray?" 

"Certainly  not!"  exclaimed  Roddy  indignantly. 

But  Peter,  more  discreet,  yawned  and  stirred 
impatiently.  "I  am  just  dying  for  something  to 
eat!"  he  protested.  "Let  her  out,  driver." 

For  appearance's  sake  they  drove  nearly  to  the 
outskirts  of  Otrabanda,  and  then,  as  though  per 
versely,  Roddy  declared  he  wanted  to  drive  back 
the  way  they  had  come  and  breakfast  at  the  Cafe 
Ducrot. 

"Why  should  we  eat  in  a  hot,  smelly  dining- 
room,"  he  demanded  in  tones  intended  to  reach 
the  driver,  "when  we  can  eat  under  orange  trees  ?" 

Peter,  with  apparent  reluctance,  assented. 

"Oh,  have  it  your  own  way,"  he  said.  "Per 
sonally,  I  could  eat  under  any  tree — under  a 
gallows-tree." 

55 


The  White  Mice 

For  the  second  time  they  passed  the  Casa  Blanca, 
and,  while  apparently  intent  on  planning  an  ex 
tensive  breakfast,  their  eyes  photographed  its 
every  feature.  Now,  as  the  driver  was  not  ob 
serving  them,  they  were  able  to  note  the  position  of 
the  entrances,  of  the  windows,  rising  behind  iron 
bars,  from  a  terrace  of  white  and  black  marble. 
They  noted  the  wing,  used  as  a  stable  for  horses 
and  carriages,  and,  what  was  of  greater  interest, 
that  a  hand-rail  disappeared  over  the  edge  of  the 
cliff  and  suggested  a  landing-pier  below. 

But  of  those  who  lived  in  the  white  palace  there 
was  no  sign.  It  hurt  Roddy  to  think  that  if,  from 
the  house,  the  inmates  noted  the  two  young  men  in 
a  public  carriage,  peering  at  their  home,  they  would 
regard  the  strangers  only  as  impertinent  sighters. 
They  could  not  know  that  the  eyes  of  the  tourists 
were  filled  with  pity,  that,  at  the  sight  of  the  villa 
on  the  cliff  the  heart  of  each  had  quickened  with 
kindly  emotions,  with  excitement,  with  the  hope 
of  possible  adventure. 

Roddy  clutched  Peter  by  the  wrist;  with  the 
other  hand  he  pointed  quickly.  Through  a  nar 
row  opening  in  a  thicket  that  stood  a  few  rods  from 
the  house  Peter  descried  the  formal  lines  of  a 
tennis  court.  Roddy  raised  his  eyebrows  signifi 
cantly.  His  smile  was  radiant,  triumphant. 

56 


The  White  Mice 

"Which  seems  to  prove,"  he  remarked  enig 
matically,  "that  certain  parties  of  the  first  part  are 
neither  aged  nor  infirm." 

His  deduction  gave  him  such  satisfaction  that 
when  they  drew  up  at  the  Cafe  Ducrot  he  was  still 
smiling. 

Within  the  short  hour  that  had  elapsed  since 
they  had  last  seen  the  Ducrot  garden  a  surprising 
transformation  had  taken  place.  No  longer  the 
orange  grove  lay  slumbering  in  silence.  No  longer 
the  waiters  dozed  beside  the  marble-topped  tables. 
Drawn  up  outside  the  iron  fence  that  protected  the 
garden  from  the  road  a  half-dozen  fiery  Venezuelan 
ponies  under  heavy  saddles,  and  as  many  more 
fastened  to  landaus  and  dog-carts,  were  neighing, 
squealing,  jangling  their  silver  harness,  and  stamp 
ing  holes  in  the  highway.  On  the  inside,  through 
the  heavy  foliage  of  the  orange  trees,  came  the 
voice  of  the  maitre  d'hotel,  from  the  kitchen  the 
fat  chef  bellowed  commands.  The  pebbles  on  the 
walks  grated  harshly  beneath  the  flying  feet  of  the 
waiters. 

Seated  at  breakfast  around  a  long  table  in  the 
far  end  of  the  garden  were  over  twenty  men,  and 
that  it  was  in  their  service  the  restaurant  had 
roused  itself  was  fairly  evident.  The  gentlemen 
who  made  up  the  breakfast-party  were  not  the 

57 


The  White  Mice 

broadly-built,  blonde  Dutchmen  of  the  island,  but 
Venezuelans.  And  a  young  and  handsome  Venez 
uelan,  seated  at  the  head  of  the  table,  and  facing 
the  entrance  to  the  garden,  was  apparently  the 
person  in  whose  honor  they  were  assembled.  So 
much  younger,  at  least  in  looks,  than  the  others, 
was  the  chief  guest,  that  Peter,  who  was  displeased 
by  this  invasion  of  their  sleeping  palace,  suggested 
it  was  a  coming-of-age  party. 

It  was  some  time  before  the  signals  of  the 
Americans  were  regarded.  Although  they  had 
established  themselves  at  a  table  surrounded  by 
flowering  shrubs,  and  yet  strategically  situated  not 
too  far  distant  from  the  kitchen  or  the  cafe,  no  one 
found  time  to  wait  upon  them,  and  they  finally 
obtained  the  services  of  one  of  the  waiters  only  by 
the  expedient  of  holding  tightly  to  his  flying  apron. 
Roddy  commanded  him  to  bring  whatever  was 
being  served  at  the  large  table. 

"That  cook,"  Roddy  pointed  out,  "is  too  ex 
cited  to  bother  with  our  order;  but,  if  there's 
enough  for  twenty,  there  will  be  enough  for  two 


more/' 


Although  they  were  scorned  by  the  waiters,  the 
young  men  were  surprised  to  fi>id  that  to  the  gentle 
men  of  the  birthday-party  their  coming  was  of  the 
utmost  interest,  and,  though  the  tables  were  much 


The  White  Mice 

too  far  apart  for  Roddy  to  hear  what  was  said,  he 
could  see  that  many  glances  were  cast  in  his  direc 
tion,  that  the  others  were  talking  of  him,  and  that, 
for  some  reason,  his  presence  was  most  discon 
certing. 

Finally,  under  pretence  of  giving  an  order  to  his 
coachman,  one  of  the  birthday-party,  both  in 
going  and  returning  from  the  gate,  walked  close 
to  their  table  and  observed  them  narrowly.  As 
he  all  but  paused  in  the  gravel  walk  opposite  them, 
Roddy  said  with  conviction: 

"No!  Walter  Pater  never  gave  the  Stoic 
philosophy  a  just  interpretation,  while  to  Euphu 
ism " 

"On  the  contrary/'  interrupted  Peter  warmly, 
"Oscar  Hammerstein  is  the  ONLY  impressario  who 
can  keep  the  pennant  flying  over  grand  opera  and 
a  roof  garden.  Believe  me " 

With  a  bewildered  countenance  the  Venezuelan 
hastily  passed  on.  Placidly  the  two  young  men 
continued  with  their  breakfast. 

"Even  if  he  does  understand  English,"  continued 
Roddy,  "that  should  keep  him  guessing  for  a 
while." 

As  they,  themselves,  had  no  interest  in  the  birth 
day-party,  and  as  they  had  eaten  nothing  since 
early  coffee  on  the  steamer,  the  young  men  were 

59 


The  White  Mice 

soon  deep  in  the  joy  of  feasting.     But  they  were 
not  long  to  remain  in  peace. 

From  the  bushes  behind  them  there  emerged 
suddenly  and  quietly  a  young  negro.  He  was 
intelligent  looking  and  of  good  appearance.  His 
white  duck  was  freshly  ironed,  his  straw  hat 
sported  a  gay  ribbon.  Without  for  an  instant 
hesitating  between  the  two  men,  he  laid  a  letter  in 
front  of  Roddy.  "For  Mr.  Forrester,"  he  said, 
and  turning,  parted  the  bushes  and,  as  quickly  as 
he  had  come;  departed. 

Roddy  stared  at  the  hedge  through  which  the 
messenger  had  vanished,  and  his  wandering  eyes 
turned  toward  the  birthday-party.  He  found  that 
every  one  at  that  table  was  regarding  him  intently. 
It  was  evident  all  had  witnessed  the  incident. 
Roddy  wondered  if  it  were  possible  that  the  letter 
came  from  them.  Looking  further  he  observed 
that  the  man  who  was  serving  Peter  and  himself 
also  was  regarding  him  with  greater  interest  than 
seemed  natural,  and  thafhe  was  not  the  man  who 
first  had  waited  upon  them. 

"You,"  began  Roddy  doubtfully,  "you  are  not 
the  waiter  who— 

The  man  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"That  fellow  he  can't  speakety  English,"  he 
explained.  "I  speakety  English  very  good." 

60 


The  White  Mice 

The  man  smiled  knowingly,  so  it  seemed  to 
Roddy,  impertinently.  Roddy  felt  uncomfortably 
convinced  that  some  jest  was  going  on  behind  his 
back,  and  he  resented  the  thought, 

"Yes/'  he  began  hotly,  "and  I  will  bet  you 
understand  it,  too." 

Under  the  table  Peter  kicked  violently  at  his 
ankles. 

"  Read  your  letter,"  he  said. 

The  envelope  bore  only  the  name  Rodman  For 
rester.  The  letter  began  abruptly  and  was  not 
signed.  It  read: 

"Willemstad  is  a  small  place.  Every  one  in  it 
knows  every  one  else.  Therefore,  the  most  con 
spicuous  person  in  it  is  the  last  person  to  arrive. 
You  are  the  last  person  to  arrive,  and,  accordingly, 
everything  you  do  is  noted.  That  this  morning 
you  twice  passed  the  Casa  Blanca  has  been  already 
reported  both  by  those  who  guard  it  and  by  those 
who  spy  upon  it.  If  you  would  bring  disaster  to 
those  you  say  you  wish  to  serve,  keep  on  as 
idiotically  as  you  have  begun." 

The  rebuke,  although  anonymous,  turned  Rod 
dy's  cheeks  a  rosy  red,  but  he  had  sufficient  self- 
control  to  toss  the  letter  to  his  companion,  and  to 
say  carelessly:  "He  wants  us  to  dine  with  him." 

61 


The  White  Mice 

The  waiter,  who  had  been  openly  listening, 
moved  off  in  the  direction  of  the  kitchen.  A 
moment  later  Roddy  saw  him  bear  a  dish  to  the 
Venezuelan  at  the  head  of  the  long  table,  and  as  he 
proffered  it,  the  two  men  whispered  eagerly. 

When  Peter  had  read  the  warning  he  threw  it, 
face  down,  upon  the  table,  and  with  a  disturbed 
countenance  pretended  to  devote  his  attention  to 
the  salad  dressing.  Roddy  was  now  grinning  with 
pleasure,  and  made  no  effort  to  conceal  that  fact. 

"I  wouldn't  have  missed  this,"  he  whispered, 
"for  a  week  in  God's  country.  Apparently  every 
body's  business  is  everybody  else's  business,  and 
every  one  spies  on  every  one.  It's  like  the  island 
where  they  were  too  proud  to  do  their  own  wash 
ing,  so  everybody  took  in  somebody  else's  washing." 

"Who  is  it  from,"  interrupted  Peter  irritably, 
"the  Consul?" 

Roddy  nodded  and  laughed. 

"You  may  laugh,"  protested  Peter,  "but  you 
don't  know.  You've  been  in  Venezuela  only  four 
months,  and  Captain  Codman's  been  here  eighteen 
years.  These  people  don't  look  at  things  the  way 
we  do.  We  think  it's  all  comic  opera,  but " 

"They're  children,"  declared  Roddy  tolerantly, 
"children  trying  to  frighten  you  with  a  mask  on. 
And  old  man  Codman — he's  caught  it,  too.  The 

62 


The  White  Mice 

fact  that  he's  been  down  here  eighteen  years  is  the 
only  thing  against  him.  He's  lost  his  sense  of 
humor.  The  idea,"  he  exclaimed,  "of  spying  on 
us  and  sending  us  anonymous  warnings.  Why 
doesn't  he  come  to  the  hotel  and  say  what  he  has 
to  say  ?  Where  does  he  think  he  is — in  Siberia  ?" 

Roddy  chuckled  and  clapped  his  hands  loudly 
for  the  waiter.  He  was  pleasantly  at  ease.  The 
breakfast  was  to  his  liking,  the  orange  trees 
shielded  him  from  the  sun,  and  the  wind  from  the 
sea  stirred  the  flowering  shrubs  and  filled  the  air 
with  spicy,  pungent  odors. 

"Perhaps  the  Consul  understands  them  better 
than  you  do,"  persisted  Peter.  "These  revolu 
tionists " 

"They're  a  pack  of  cards,"  declared  Roddy. 
"As  Alice  said  to  the  King  and  Queen,  'You're 
only  a  pack  of  cards.": 

As  he  was  speaking  Mr.  Von  Amberg,  the  agent 
of  the  steamship  line,  with  whom  that  morning  he 
had  been  in  consultation,  and  one  of  the  other  com 
mission  merchants  of  Wiliemstad,  came  up  the 
gravel  walk  and  halted  at  their  table. 

Both  Von  Amberg  and  his  companion  had  but 
lately  arrived  from  Holland.  They  were  big  men, 
of  generous  girth,  beaming  with  good  health  and 
good  humor.  They  looked  like  Kris  Kringles  in 

63 


The  White  Mice 

white  duck.  In  continental  fashion  they  raised 
their  Panama  hats  and  bowed  profusely.  They 
congratulated  the  young  men  on  so  soon  having 
found  their  way  to  the  Cafe  Ducrot,  and  that  Mr 
de  Peyster,  whose  name  appealed  to  them,  had 
pronounced  the  cooking  excellent,  afforded  then? 
personal  satisfaction. 

Von  Amberg  told  the  young  men  he  had  just 
left  cards  for  the  club  at  their  hotel,  and  hoped  they 
would  make  use  of  it.  His  launch,  carnage  and 
he,  himself,  were  at  their  disposition. 

When  Roddy  invited  the  two  merchants  to  join 
them  Von  Amberg  thanked  him  politely  and  ex 
plained  that  his  table  was  already  laid  for  break 
fast.  With  another  exchange  of  bows  the  two 
gentlemen  continued  up  the  twisting  path  and 
disappeared  among  the  bushes. 

"  That's  what  I  mean!"  exclaimed  Roddy  ap 
provingly.  "Now  they  are  our  people.  They 
have  better  manners,  perhaps,  than  we  have,  but 
they're  sensible,  straight-from-the-shoulder  men  of 
business.  They  aren't  spying  on  anybody,  or 
sending  black-hand  letters,  or  burying  old  men 
alive  in  prisons.  If  they  saw  a  revolution  coming 
they  wouldn't  know  what— 

He  was  interrupted  by  the  sudden  reappearance 
of  the  men  of  whom  he  spoke.  They  were  moving 


The  White  Mice 

rapidly  in  the  direction  of  the  gate,  and  the  counte 
nance  of  each  wore  an  expression  of  surprise  and 
alarm.  While  his  companion  passed  them  quickly, 
Mr.  Von  Amberg  reluctantly  hesitated,  and,  in 
evident  perplexity  and  with  some  suspicion,  looked 
from  one  to  the  other.  The  waiter  had  placed  the 
coffee  and  bottles  of  cognac  and  of  curacao  upon 
the  table;  and  Roddy  hospitably  moved  a  chair 
forward. 

"Won't  you  change  your  mind,"  he  said,  "and 
try  some  of  the  stuff  that  made  this  island  fa 
mous  ?" 

In  spite  of  his  evident  desire  to  escape,  Von 
A.mberg's  good  manners  did  not  forsake  him. 
He  bowed  and  raised  his  hat  in  protest. 

"  I — I  should  be  very  pleased — some  other  time," 
he  stammered,  "but  now  I  must  return  to  town. 
I  find  to-day  it  is  not  possible  to  breakfast  here. 
There  is  a  large  party — "  he  paused,  and  his  voice 
rose  interrogatively. 

"Yes,"  Roddy  replied  with  indifference.  "We 
found  them  here.  They  took  all  the  waiters  away 
from  us." 

The  nature  of  the  answer  seemed  greatly  to  sur 
prise  Von  Amberg. 

"You — you  are  not  acquainted  with  those 
gentlemen?"  he  inquired. 

65 


The  White  Mice 

In  the  fashion  of  his  country,  Roddy  answered 
by  another  question. 

"Who  are  they  ?"  he  asked.  "Who  is  the  one 
whose  health  they  are  all  the  time  drinking?" 

For  an  instant  Von  Amberg  continued  to  show 
complete  bewilderment.  Then  he  smiled  broadly. 
For  him,  apparently,  the  situation  now  possessed 
an  aspect  as  amusing  as  it  had  been  disturbing. 
He  made  a  sly  face  and  winked  jovially. 

"Oh!  You  Americans!  "he  exclaimed.  "You 
make  good  politicians.  Do  not  fear,"  he  added 
hurriedly.  "I  have  seen  nothing,  and  I  say 
nothing.  I  do  not  mix  myself  in  politics."  He 
started  toward  the  gate,  then  halted,  and  with  one 
eye  closed  whispered  hoarsely,  "It  is  all  right.  I 
will  say  nothing!"  Nodding  mysteriously,  he 
hurried  down  the  path. 

Peter  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  chuckled  de 
lightedly. 

"  There  go  your  sensible  business  men,"  he  jeered, 
"running  away!  Now  what  have  you  to  say  ?" 

Roddy  was  staring  blankly  down  the  path  and 
shook  his  head. 

"You  can  subpoena  me,"  he  sighed.  "Why 
should  they  be  afraid  of  a  birthday-party  ?  Why ! " 
he  exclaimed,  "they  were  even  afraid  of  me!  He 
didn't  believe  that  we  don't  know  those  Venezue- 

66 


The  White  Mice 

fans.  He  said,"  Roddy  recapitulated,  "he  didn't 
mix  in  politics.  That  means,  of  course,  that  those 
fellows  are  politicians,  and,  probably  this  is  their 
fashion  of  holding  a  primary.  It  must  be  the  local 
method  of  floating  a  revolution.  But  why  should 
Von  Amberg  think  we're  in  the  plot,  too  ?  Because 
my  name's  Forrester?" 

Peter  nodded.  "That  must  be  it,"  he  said. 
"Your  father  is  in  deep  with  these  Venezuelans, 
and  everybody  knows  that,  and  makes  the  mistake 
of  thinking  you  are  also.  I  wish,"  he  exclaimed 
patiently,  "your  father  was  more  confiding.  It  is 
all  very  well  for  him — plotting  plots  from  the  top 
of  the  Forrester  Building — but  it  makes  it  difficult 
for  any  one  down  here  inside  the  firing-line.  If 
your  father  isn't  more  careful,"  he  pretested 
warmly,  "Alvarez  will  stand  us  blindfolded  against 
a  wall,  and  we'll  play  blind  man's  buflF  with  a  fir 
ing-squad." 

Peter's  forebodings  afforded  Roddy  much 
amusement.  He  laughed  at  his  friend,  and 
mocked  him,  urging  him  to  keep  a  better  hold  upon 
his  sense  of  humor. 

"You  have  been  down  here  too  long  yourself," 
he  said.  "  You'll  be  having  tropic  choler  next. 
I  tell  you,  you  must  think  of  them  as  children; 
they're  a  pack  of  cards." 

67 


The  White  Mice 

"Maybe  they  are,"  sighed  Peter  "but  as  long 
as  we  don't  know  the  game " 

From  where  Peter  sat,  with  his  back  in  their 
direction,  he  could  not  see  the  Venezuelans;  but 
Roddy,  who  was  facing  them,  now  observed  that 
they  had  finished  their  breakfast.  Talking,  gestic 
ulating,  laughing,  they  were  crowding  down  the 
path.  He  touched  Peter,  and  Peter  turned  in  his 
chair  to  look  at  them. 

At  the  same  moment  a  man  stepped  from  the 
bushes,  and  halting  at  one  side  of  Roddy,  stood 
with  his  eyes  fixed  upon  the  men  of  the  birthday- 
party,  waiting  for  them  to  approach.  He  wore  the 
silk  cap  of  a  chauffeur,  a  pair  of  automobile  goggles, 
and  a  long  automobile  coat.  The  attitude  of  the 
chauffeur  suggested  that  he  had  come  forward  to 
learn  if  his  employer  was  among  those  now  making 
their  departure ;  and  Roddy  wondered  that  he  had 
heard  no  automobile  arrive,  and  that  he  had  seen 
none  in  Willemstad.  Except  for  that  thought,  so 
interested  was  Roddy  in  the  men  who  had  shown 
so  keen  an  interest  in  him,  that  to  the  waiting 
figure  he  gave  no  further  consideration. 

The  Venezuelans  had  found  they  were  too  many 
to  walk  abreast.  Some  had  scattered  down  other 
paths.  Others  had  spread  out  over  the  grass. 
But  the  chief  guest  still  kept  to  the  gravel  walk 

68 


The  White  Mice 

which  led  to  the  gate.  And  now  Roddy  saw  him 
plainly. 

Owing  to  a  charming  quality  of  youth,  it  was 
impossible  to  guess  the  man's  age.  He  might  be 
under  thirty.  He  might  be  forty.  He  was  tall, 
graceful,  and  yet  soldierly-looking,  with  crisp, 
black  hair  clinging  close  to  a  small,  aristocratic 
head.  Like  many  Venezuelans,  he  had  the  brown 
skin,  ruddy  cheeks,  and  pointed  mustache  of  a 
Neapolitan.  His  eyes  were  radiant,  liquid,  bril 
liant.  He  was  walking  between  two  of  his  friends, 
with  a  hand  resting  affectionately  on  the  shoulder 
of  each;  and  though  both  of  the  men  were  older 
than  himself,  his  notice  obviously  flattered  them. 
They  were  laughing,  and  nodding  delighted  ap 
proval  at  what  he  said,  and  he  was  talking  eagerly 
and  smiling.  Roddy  thought  he  had  seldom  seen  a 
smile  so  winning,  one  that  carried  with  it  so  strong 
a  personal  appeal.  Roddy  altogether  approved 
of  the  young  man.  He  found  him  gay,  buoyant, 
in  appearance  entirely  the  conquering  hero,  the 
Prince  Charming.  And  even  though  of  his  charm 
the  young  man  seemed  to  be  well  awTare,  he  ap 
peared  none  the  less  a  graceful,  gallant,  triumphant 
figure. 

As  Roddy,  mildly  curious,  watched  him,  the 
young  man  turned  his  head  gayly  from  the  friend 

69 


The  White  Mice 

on  his  one  side  to  address  the  one  on  the  other. 
It  was  but  a  movement  of  an  instant,  but  in  the 
short  circuit  of  the  glance  Roddy  saw  the  eyes  of 
the  young  man  halt.  As  though  suddenly  hypno 
tized,  his  lips  slowly  closed,  his  white  teeth  disap 
peared,  the  charming  smile  grew  rigid.  He  was 
regarding  something  to  the  left  of  Roddy  and  above 
him. 

Roddy  turned  and  saw  the  waiting  figure  of  the 
chauffeur.  He  had  stepped  clear  of  the  bushes, 
and,  behind  the  mask-like  goggles,  his  eyes  were 
fixed  upon  the  young  Venezuelan.  He  took  a 
short  step  forward,  and  his  right  hand  reached  up 
under  his  left  cuff. 

Roddy  had  seen  Englishmen  in  searching  for  a 
handkerchief  make  a  similar  movement,  but  now 
the  gesture  was  swift  and  sinister.  In  the  attitude 
of  the  masked  figure  itself  there  was  something 
prehensible  and  menacing.  The  hand  of  the  man 
came  free,  and  Roddy  saw  that  it  held  a  weapon. 

As  the  quickest  way  to  get  his  legs  from  under 
the  table,  Roddy  shoved  the  table  and  everything 
on  it  into  the  lap  of  Peter.  With  one  spring 
Roddy  was  beside  the  man,  and  as  he  struck  him 
on  the  chin,  with  his  other  hand  he  beat  at  the 
weapon.  There  were  two  reports  and  a  sharp 
high  cry. 


Under  the  blow,  the  masked  man  staggered  drunkenly. 


The  White  Mice 

Under  the  blow  the  masked  man  staggered 
drunkenly,  his  revolver  swaying  in  front  of  Roddy's 
eyes.  Roddy  clutched  at  it  and  there  was  a  strug 
gle — another  report — and  then  the  man  broke 
from  him,  and  with  the  swift,  gliding  movement  of 
a  snake,  slipped  through  the  bushes. 


Ill 

RODDY  stood  staring  blankly,  unconsciously 
sucking  at  a  raw  spot  on  his  finger  where  the 
powder  had  burned  it.  At  his  feet  the  bottle  of 
Curasao,  from  which  he  had  just  been  drinking, 
was  rolling  upon  the  gravel  path,  its  life-blood 
bubbling  out  upon  the  pebbles.  He  stooped  and 
lifted  it.  Later  he  remembered  wondering  how 
it  had  come  there,  and,  at  the  time,  that  so  much 
good  liquor  had  been  wasted  had  seemed  a  most 
irritating  circumstance. 

He  moved  to  replace  the  bottle  upon  the  table 
and  found  the  table  overturned,  with  Peter,  his 
clothes  dripping  and  his  eyes  aflame,  emerging 
from  beneath  it. 

Further  up  the  path  the  young  Venezuelan  was 
struggling  in  the  arms  of  his  friends.  Fearful  that 
he  might  still  be  in  danger  they  were  restraining 
him,  and  he,  eager  to  pursue  the  man  who  had 
fired  on  him,  was  crying  aloud  his  protests. 
Others  of  his  friends  were  racing  down  the  different 
paths,  breaking  through  the  bushes,  and  often,  in 
their  excitement,  seizing  upon  one  another.  Hud- 

7* 


The  White  Mice 

died  together  in  a  group,  the  waiters  and  coachmen 
explained,  gesticulated,  shrieked. 

But  above  the  clamor  of  all,  the  voice  of  Peter 
was  the  most  insistent.  Leaping  from  a  wreck  of 
plates  and  glasses,  his  clothing  splashed  with 
claret,  with  coffee,  with  salad  dressing,  with  the 
tablecloth  wound  like  a  kilt  about  his  legs,  he 
jumped  at  Roddy  and  Roddy  retreated  before  him. 
Raging,  and  in  the  name  of  profane  places,  Peter 
demanded  what  Roddy  "meant"  by  it. 

"Look  at  me!"  he  commanded.  "Look  what 
you  did !  Look  at  me ! " 

Roddy  did  not  look.  If  he  looked  he  knew  he 
would  laugh.  And  he  knew  Peter  was  hoping  he 
would  laugh  so  that,  at  that  crowning  insult,  he 
might  fall  upon  him. 

In  tones  of  humble,  acute  regret  Roddy  protested. 

"I  did  it,  Peter,"  he  stammered  hastily.  '  I  did 
it — to  save  you.  I  was  afraid  he  would  hit  you. 
I  had  to  act  quickly " 

"Afraid  he'd  hit  me!"  roared  Peter.  " You  hit 
me !  Hit  me  with  a  table !  Look  at  my  new  white 
flannel  suit!  And  look  at  this!"  With  his  fingers 
he  gingerly  parted  his  wet,  disheveled  hair.  "  Look 
at  the  bump  on  the  back  of  my  head.  Is  that  your 
idea  of  saving  me  ?  I  wish,"  he  exploded  savagely, 
"I  wish  he'd  shot  you  full  of  holes!" 

73 


The  White  Mice 

The  violent  onslaught  of  Peter  was  interrupted 
by  one  hardly  less  violent  from  the  young  Venezue 
lan.  He  had  freed  himself  from  his  friends,  and, 
as  it  now  was  evident  the  man  who  had  attempted 
his  life  had  escaped,  and  that  to  search  further  was 
useless,  he  ran  to  thank  the  stranger  who  had 
served  him.  Extravagantly,  but  with  real  feeling, 
he  wrung  both  of  Roddy's  hands.  In  the  native 
fashion  he  embraced  him,  shook  him  by  the  shoul 
ders,  patted  him  affectionately  on  the  back.  Elo 
quently  but  incoherently  in  Spanish,  French  and 
English  he  poured  forth  his  thanks.  He  hailed 
Roddy  as  his  preserver,  his  bon  amigo,  his  brav 
camarad,  In  expressing  their  gratitude  his  friends 
were  equally  voluble  and  generous.  They  praised, 
they  applauded,  they  admired;  in  swift,  graceful 
gestures  they  reenacted  for  each  other  the  blow 
upon  the  chin,  the  struggle  for  the  revolver,  the 
escape  of  the  would-be  assassin. 

Even  Peter,  as  the  only  one  who  had  suffered, 
became  a  heroic  figure. 

It  was  many  minutes  before  the  Americans  could 
depart,  and  then  only  after  every  one  had  drunk  to 
them  in  warm,  sweet  champagne. 

When  the  glasses  were  filled  the  young  Venezue 
lan  turned  to  those  standing  about  him  on  the  grass 
and  commanded  silence.  He  now  spoke  in  excel- 

74 


The  White  Mice 

lent  English,  but  Roddy  noted  that  those  of  the 
older  men  who  could  not  understand  regarded  him 
with  uneasiness. 

"I  ask  you,  my  friends,"  cried  the  Venezuelan, 
"to  drink  to  the  name  of  Forrester.  How  much," 
he  exclaimed,  "does  not  that  name  mean  to  my 
unhappy  country.  I — myself — that  my  life  should 
be  taken — it  is  nothing;  but  that  it  should  be 
saved  for  my  country  by  one  of  that  name  is  for  us 
an  omen — a  lucky  omen.  It  means,"  he  cried,  the 
soft,  liquid  eyes  flashing,  "it  means  success.  It 
means —  As  though  suddenly  conscious  of  the 
warning  frowns  of  his  friends,  he  paused  abruptly, 
and  with  a  graceful  bow,  and  waving  his  glass 
toward  Roddy,  said  quietly,  "Let  us  drink  to  the 
son  of  a  good  friend  of  Venezuela — to  Mr.  For 
rester." 

Not  until  the  landau  was  well  on  its  way  to 
Willemstad  did  Roddy  deem  it  wise  to  make  a 
certain  inquiry. 

"What,"  he  asked  of  the  driver,  "is  the  name  of 
the  gentleman  that  the  other  gentleman  tried  to 
shoot?" 

The  driver  turned  completely  in  his  seat.  His 
eyes  were  opened  wide  in  amazement. 

"You  don't  know  that  gentleman!"  he  ex 
claimed.  "I  think  everybody  know  that  gentle- 

75 


The  White  Mice 

man.     He  be  very  brave  Venezuela  gentleman;  he 
be  Colonel  Vega." 

As  though  sure  of  the  effect  of  that  name,  the 
driver  paused  dramatically,  but,  except  that  the 
two  Americans  looked  inquiringly  at  each  other, 
they  made  no  sign. 

"Mebbe  I  better  call  that  gentleman — Pino?" 
the  driver  suggested.  "Everybody  call  him  Pino, 
just  like  he  be  everybody's  brother."  The  man 
showed  his  teeth  broadly,  in  a  delighted  grin. 
:<The  market  womens,  the  sailor  mens,  the  police 
mens,  the  black  peoples,  and  the  white  gentlemens, 
everybodys — call  him  Pino.  Pino  he  be  exiled. 
If  he  go  to  his  country  that  President  Alvarez  he 
say  he  shoot  him.  So  Pino  go  over  that  way," 
with  his  whip  he  pointed  to  the  east.  "They  say 
he  go  live  in  Paris.  But  yesterday  he  come  in  that 
steamer,  and  all  the  peoples  be  waiting  at  that 
wharf.  Everybody  be  glad  to  see  Pino." 

"Everybody  but  that  man  with  that  gun,"  sug 
gested  Roddy. 

The  driver  rolled  his  eyes  darkly  and  pursed  his 
lips.  "That  be  bad  man,"  he  said. 

"Did  President  Alvarez,"  inquired  Roddy  pleas 
antly,  "send  that  bad  man  over  here  to  shoot  the 
too  popular  Pino  ?" 

Peter  uttered  a  sudden  growl  of  indignation. 
76 


The  White  Mice 

"Look  where  you  are  driving!"  he  ordered. 

When  the  negro  had  turned  to  his  horses  Peter 
stared  at  Roddy  long  and  steadily. 

"What  that  parrot  said  of  you,"  he  declared 
grimly,  "was  true." 

Those  Venezuelans  who  at  once  had  set  forth  on 
their  ponies  to  overtake  the  would-be  assassin 
already  had  brought  word  of  the  attempt  upon 
Colonel  Vega  to  Willemstad,  and  the  repose  of  the 
peaceful  burgh  was  greatly  ruffled.  The  arrival  of 
the  young  men  increased  the  excitement,  and, 
though  they  fled  to  their  rooms,  from  their  balcony 
overlooking  the  wharf  they  could  hear  their  driver, 
enthroned  upon  his  box  seat,  describing  the  event 
to  an  intent  and  eager  audience. 

As  Peter  was  changing  into  dry  clothes  he  held 
his  watch  so  that  Roddy  could  note  the  hour. 

"How  long  would  you  have  said  we  have  been 
living  on  this  island  ?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  at  least  a  week!"  exclaimed  Roddy.  "I 
have  had  more  excitement  than  I  could  get  in 
Nfew  York  in  a  year,  and  we  haven't  been  here 
twelve  hours!" 

"  But  it  is  all  over  now,"  Peter  announced.  "  We 
can't  stay  here.  We're  getting  too  chummy  with 
this  Venezuelan  crowd,  thanks  to  you." 

"What  have  I  done  now?"  complained  Roddy. 
77 


The  White  Mice 

"You  can't  help  being  who  you  are,"  admitted 
Peter,  "  but  you  can  see  that  this  town  is  a  red-hot 
incubator  for  revolutions.  Every  one  in  it  thinks 
of  nothing  else,  and  every  one  thinks  you  are  in 
deep  with  your  father  against  Alvarez,  and  if  we 
linger  here  Alvarez  will  think  so,  too.  We've  got 
to  get  back  to  Porto  Cabello  where  we  have  a  clean 
bill  of  health." 

Roddy  had  stretched  himself  upon  his  cot,  in 
preparation  for  his  afternoon  siesta,  but  he  sat  up 
right,  his  face  filled  with  dismay. 

"And  not  see  the  Rojas  family  ?"  he  cried. 

Peter  growled  indignantly. 

"See  them!  How  can  you  see  them?"  he  de 
manded.  "We  only  drove  past  their  house,  along 
a  public  road,  and  already  everybody  in  town  has 
a  flashlight  picture  of  us  doing  it." 

"But,"  objected  Roddy,  "we  haven't  got  our 
credentials." 

"We'll  have  to  do  without  them,"  declared 
Peter.  "I  tell  you,  if  you  get  mixed  up  with 
Brother  Pino  when  you  get  back  to  Porto  Cabello 
you'll  go  to  jail.  And  what  chance  will  we  have 
then  of  saving  General  Rojas  ?  He  will  stay  in 
prison  and  die  there.  As  White  Mice,"  announced 
Peter  firmly,  "we  have  our  work  to  do,  and  we 
must  not  be  turned  aside  by  anybody's  revolution, 

78 


The  White  Mice 

your  father's,  or  Pino  Vega's,  or  anybody's.  We're 
White  Mice,  first,  last  and  all  the  time.  Our  duty 
isn't  to  take  life  but  to  save  it."  As  though  sud 
denly  surprised  by  a  new  idea  Peter  halted 
abruptly. 

"I  suppose,"  he  demanded  scornfully,  "you 
think  you  prevented  a  murder  this  morning,  and 
you  will  be  claiming  the  White  Mice  medal  for 
saving  life  ?" 

"I  certainly  will,"  declared  Roddy  cheerfully, 
"and  you  will  have  to  certify  I  earned  it,  because 
you  saw  me  earn  it." 

"But  I  didn't,"  declared  Peter.  "I  was  under 
the  table." 

Roddy  closed  his  eyes  and  again  fell  back  upon 
the  cot.  For  so  long  a  time  was  he  silent  that  Peter, 
who  had  gone  out  upon  the  balcony,  supposed  him 
asleep,  when  Roddy  suddenly  raised  himself  on  his 
elbow. 

"Anyway,"  he  began  abruptly,  "we  can't  leave 
here  until  the  boat  takes  us  away,  three  days  from 
now.  I'll  bet  in  three  days  I'll  get  all  the  creden 
tials  we  want." 

Roddy  had  been  awake  since  sunrise,  the  heat 
was  soporific,  the  events  of  the  morning  exhausting, 
and  in  two  minutes,  unmindful  of  revolutions,  in 
different  to  spies,  to  plots  and  counter-plots,  he  was 

70 


The  White  Mice 

sleeping  happily.  But  as  he  slumbered,  in  two 
lands,  at  great  distances  apart,  he  and  his  affairs 
were  being  earnestly  considered.  On  the  twenty- 
seventh  floor  of  the  Forrester  Building  his  father, 
with  perplexed  and  frowning  brows,  studied  a 
cablegram;  in  the  Casa  Blanca,  Senora  Rojas  and 
her  daughters  listened  in  amazement  to  a  marvel 
ous  tale.  Had  it  not  been  their  faithful  friend  and 
jealous  guardian,  the  American  Consul,  who  was 
speaking,  they  could  not  have  credited  it. 

At  the  Forrester  Building  the  cablegram  had 
been  just  translated  from  the  secret  code  of  the 
company  and  placed  upon  the  desk  of  Mr.  For 
rester.  It  was  signed  by  Von  Amberg,  and  read: 
"To-day  at  meeting  your  party,  unknown  man 
fired  three  shots  Vega;  Young  Forrester  over 
powered  man;  Vega  unhurt;  man  escaped.  Un 
derstand  young  Forrester  not  in  our  confidence. 
Please  instruct." 

Three  times  Mr.  Forrester  read  the  cablegram, 
and  then,  laying  it  upon  his  knee,  sat  staring  out  of 
the  open  window. 

Before  his  physical  eyes  were  deep  canons  of 
office  buildings  like  his  own,  towering  crag  above 
crag,  white  curling  columns  of  smoke  from  busy 
tugboats,  and  the  great  loom  of  the  Brooklyn 
Bridge  with  its  shuttles  of  clattering  cable-cars. 

80 


The  White  Mice 

But  what  he  saw  was  his  son,  alone  in  a  strange 
land,  struggling  with  an  unknown  man,  a  man 
intent  on  murder.  With  a  hand  that  moved  un 
steadily  the  Lighthouse  King  lifted  the  desk 
telephone  and  summoned  the  third  vice-president, 
and  when  Mr.  Sam  Caldwell  had  entered,  silently 
gave  him  the  cablegram. 

Sam  Caldwell  read  it  and  exclaimed  with  an 
noyance  : 

"Looks  to  me,"  he  commented  briskly,  "as 
though  they  know  why  Pino  came  back.  Looks 
as  though  they  had  sent  this  fellow  to  do  him  up, 
before  we  can 

In  a  strange,  thin  voice,  Mr.  Forrester  stopped 
him  sharply. 

"  If  the  boy'd  been  hurt — they'd  have  said  so, 
wouldn't  they?"  he  demanded. 

Sam  Caldwell  recognized  his  error.  Carefully 
he  reread  the  cablegram. 

"Why,  of  course,"  he  assented  heartily.  "It 
says  here  he  overpowered  the  other  fellow:  says 
'Vegas  unhurt/" 

In  the  same  unfamiliar,  strained  tone  Mr.  For 
rester  interrupted.  "It  doesn't  say  Roddy  is  un 
hurt,"  he  objected. 

The  young  man  laughed  reassuringly. 

"But  the  very  fact  they  don't  say  so  shows — 
81 


The  White  Mice 

why,  they'd  know  that's  what  you  most  want  to 
hear.     I  wouldn't  worry  about  Roddy.     Not  for 


a  minute." 


Embarrassed  by  his  own  feeling,  annoyed  that 
Sam  Caldwell  should  have  discovered  it,  Mr. 
Forrester  answered,  "  You  wouldn't.  He  isn't 
your  son." 

He  reached  for  a  cable  form,  and  wrote  rapidly: 

"Von  Amberg.  Willemstad,  Cu^ao,  W.  I. 
Forrester  most  certainly  not  in  our  confidence. 
Return  him  Cabello.  Is  he" — the  pen  hesitated 
and  then  again  moved  swiftly — "unhurt?" 

He  drew  another  blank  toward  him  and  ad 
dressing  it  to  McKildrick,  wrote:  "Why  is  For 
rester  in  Curacao  ?  Cable  him  return.  Keep  him 
on  job,  or  lose  yours." 

For  a  moment  Mr.  Forrester  sat  studying  the 
two  messages,  then  he  raised  his  eyes. 

"I  have  half  a  mind,"  he  said,  "to  order  him 
home.  I  would,  if  he  weren't  doing  so  well  down 
there."  With  an  effort  to  eliminate  from  his  voice 
any  accent  of  fatherly  pride,  Mr.  Forrester  asked 
coldly:  "McKiidrick  reports  that  he  is  doing  well, 
doesn't  he?" 

The  third  vice-president  nodded  affirmatively. 

"If  he  comes  back  here,"  argued  Mr.  Forrester, 
"he'll  do  nothing  but  race  his  car,  and  he'll  learn 

82 


The  White  Mice 

nothing  of  the  business.  And  then,  again,"  he 
added  doubtfully,  "while  he's  down  there  I  don't 
want  him  to  learn  too  much  of  the  business,  not 
this  Pino  Vega  end  of  it,  or  he  might  want  to  take 
a  hand,  and  that  might  embarrass  us.  Perhaps 
I  had  better  cable  him,  too." 

He  looked  inquiringly  at  the  third  vice-president, 
but  that  gentleman  refused  to  be  drawn. 

"He  isn't  my  son,"  he  remarked. 

"I  am  not  speaking  of  him  as  my  son,"  snapped 
Mr.  Forrester  warmly.  "  Speaking  of  him,  not  as 
my  son,  but  as  an  employee  of  the  company,  what 
would  you  do  with  him  ?" 

"I'd  cable  him  to  mind  his  own  business," 
answered  Sam  Caldwell 

For  the  fraction  of  a  second,  under  levelled  eye 
brows,  Mr.  Forrester  stared  at  young  Mr.  Cald 
well,  and  then,  as  a  sign  that  the  interview  was  at 
an  end,  swung  in  his  swivel  chair  and  picked  up 
his  letters.  Over  his  shoulder  he  said,  "Cable 
him  that." 

While  Roddy  in  Willemstad  was  slumbering 
under  his  mosquito-net,  and  Sam  Caldwell  in 
New  York  was  concocting  a  cablegram,  which,  he 
calculated,  would  put  Roddy  in  his  proper  place, 
but  which,  instead,  put  him  in  a  very  bad  temper, 

83 


The  White  Mice 

Captain  Codman,  at  Casa  Blanca,  had  just  finished 
relating  his  marvelous  tale. 

It  was  the  story  of  how  young  Forrester,  without 
letters  of  introduction,  without  credentials,   had 
that  morning  walked  into  the  consulate  and  an 
nounced  that,  without  asking  advice,  he  intended ' 
to  liberate  the  Lion  of  Valencia. 

Upon  the  members  of  the  Rojas  household  the 
marvelous  tale  had  a  widely  different  effect. 

To  understand  why  this  should  be  so  it  is  neces 
sary  to  know  something  of  the  three  women  who 
formed  the  Rojas  household. 

Senora  Rojas  was  an  American.  When  she 
was  very  young  her  father,  a  professor  at  one  of  the 
smaller  universities  in  New  England,  in  order  to 
study  the  archives  of  the  Spanish  rulers  of  Venez 
uela  had  visited  that  country,  and  taken  his 
daughter  with  him.  She  was  spirited,  clever, 
and  possessed  of  the  particular  type  of  beauty  the 
Spaniard  admires.  Young  Rojas  saw  her,  and  at 
once  fell  in  love  with  her,  and,  after  the  death  of 
her  father,  which  occurred  in  the  North,  followed 
her  there  and  married  her.  She  then  was  very 
young  and  he  an  attache  in  the  diplomatic  service. 
Since  their  marriage,  unlike  many  of  his  country 
men,  Rojas  had  not  looked  with  interest  upon  any 
other  woman,  and,  with  each  year  of  their  life 

84 


The  White  Mice 

together,  their  affection  had  grown  stronger,  their 
dependence  upon  each  other  had  increased. 

In  wisdom,  in  experience,  in  honors,  Rojas  had 
grown  rich.  In  countries  where  his  own  was  only 
a  spot  upon  the  map,  Rojas  himself,  the  statesman, 
the  diplomat,  the  man  who  spoke  and  read  in  many 
languages,  the  charming  host  with  the  brilliant 
wife,  was  admired,  sought  after.  There  were 
three  children:  the  two  girls,  and  a  son,  a  lieu 
tenant  of  artillery,  whose  death  during  the  revolu 
tion  of  Andreda  had  brought  to  the  family  its  first 
knowledge  of  grief. 

Of  the  two  sisters,  Lolita,  the  elder,  was  like  her 
father — grave,  gracious,  speaking  but  seldom  and, 
in  spite  of  the  years  spent  in  foreign  capitals,  still 
a  Spanish-American  Her  interests  were  in  her 
church,  her  music  and  the  duties  of  the  household. 

Of  all  the  names  given  at  her  christening  to  the 
younger  sister,  the  one  that  survived  was  Inez. 
Inez  was  a  cosmopolitan.  She  had  been  per 
mitted  to  see  too  much  of  the  world  to  make  it 
possible  for  her  ever  again  to  sit  down  tamely 
behind  the  iron  bars  of  the  Porto  Cabello  drawing- 
room.  She  was  too  much  like  her  American 
mother;  not  as  her  mother  was  now,  after  thirty 
years  in  a  Venezuelan's  household,  but  as  her 
mother  had  been  when  she  left  the  New  England 

85 


\ 


The  White  Mice 

college  town.  Unlike  her  sister,  she  could  not  be 
satisfied  with  the  cloister-like  life  of  the  young  girls 
of  Spanish-America.  During  the  time  her  father 
had  served  as  minister  to  Paris  she  had  been  at 
school  in  the  convent  at  Neuilly,  but  at  the  time  he 
was  transferred  to  London  she  was  of  an  age  to 
make  her  bow  at  court,  and  old  enough  to  move 
about  with  a  freedom  which,  had  it  been  per 
mitted  her  at  home,  would  have  created  public 
scandal.  She  had  been  free  to  ride  in  the  Row, 
to  play  tennis,  to  walk  abroad,  even  through  public 
streets  and  parks,  even  when  it  rained,  even  unat 
tended.  She  had  met  men,  not  always  as  pro 
spective  suitors,  but  as  friends  and  companions. 

And  there  had  been  a  wonderful  visit  to  her 
mother's  country  and  her  mother's  people,  when 
for  a  summer  she  had  rejoiced  in  the  friendly,  in 
consequent,  out-of-door  life  of  a  Massachusetts' 
seaside  colony.  Once  on  the  North  Shore,  and 
later  on  Cape  Cod,  she  had  learned  to  swim,  to 
steer  a  knockabout,  to  dance  the  "Boston,"  even 
in  rubber-soled  shoes,  to  "sit  out"  on  the  Casino 
balcony  and  hear  young  men,  with  desperate 
anxiety,  ask  if  there  were  any  more  in  South 
America  like  her.  To  this  question  she  always 
replied  that  there  were  not;  and  that,  in  conse 
quence,  if  the  young  man  had  any  thoughts  on  the 

86 


The  White  Mice 

subject,  she  was  the  person  to  whom  they  should 
be  addressed. 

Then,  following  the  calm,  uneventful  life  of  the 
convent,  of  London  and  its  gayeties,  of  the  Massa 
chusetts  coast  with  its  gray  fogs  and  open,  drift 
wood  fires,  came  the  return  to  her  own  country. 
There,  with  her  father,  she  rode  over  his  planta 
tions  among  the  wild  cattle,  or  with  her  mother  and 
sister  sat  in  the  patio  and  read  novels  in  three 
languages,  or  sleepily  watched  the  shadow  of  the 
tropical  sun  creep  across  the  yellow  wall. 

And  then,  suddenly,  all  of  these  different,  happy 
lives  were  turned  into  memories,  shadows,  happen 
ings  of  a  previous  and  unreal  existence.  There 
came  a  night,  which  for  months  later  in  terrified 
dreams  returned  to  haunt  her,  a  night  when  she 
woke  to  find  her  bed  surrounded  by  soldiers,  to 
hear  in  the  court-yard  the  sobs  of  her  mother  and 
the  shrieks  of  the  serving-women,  to  see  her  father 
— concerned  only  for  his  wife  and  daughters — in 
a  circle  of  the  secret  police,  to  see  him,  before  she 
could  speak  with  him,  hurried  to  a  closed  car 
riage  and  driven  away. 

Then  had  begun  the  two  years  of  exile  in  Willem- 
stad,  the  two  years  of  mourning,  not  of  quiet  grief 
for  one  at  rest,  but  anxious,  unending  distress  for 
one  alive,  one  dearly  loved,  one  tortured  in  mind, 


The  White  Mice 

enduring  petty  indignities,  bodily  torments,  deg 
radations  that  killed  the  soul  and  broke  the  brave 
spirit. 

To  the  three  women  Rojas  had  been  more  than 
husband  or  father.  He  had  been  their  knight, 
their  idol,  their  reason  for  happiness.  They  alone 
knew  how  brave  he  was,  how  patient,  how,  beyond 
imagination,  considerate.  That  they  should  be 
free  to  eat  and  sleep,  to  work  and  play,  while  he 
was  punished  like  a  felon,  buried  alive,  unable  to 
carry  on  the  work  in  the  world  God  had  given  him 
to  do,  caused  them  intolerable  misery.  While  he 
suffered  there  was  no  taste  in  life,  and  the  three  shut 
themselves  from  the  world.  They  admitted  only 
the  Consul,  who  had  been  his  friend,  and  those 
who,  like  themselves,  were  exiles,  and  in  whose 
hatred  of  Alvarez  lay  their  only  hope  of  again 
seeing  the  one  they  loved.  Time  after  time  a  plan 
of  rescue  had  failed.  A  plot  that  promised  release 
had  been  disclosed  and  the  conspirators  punished. 
Hope  had  left  them,  and,  on  the  part  of  their 
friends,  had  been  followed  by  lethargy. 

But  within  the  last  three  months  a  new  hope 
had  arisen,  and  with  it,  for  the  younger  daughter, 
a  new  distress. 

It  was  whispered  that  a  revolution,  backed  by 
great  wealth  and  sanctified  by  the  prayers  of  the 

88 


The  White  Mice 

people,  was  to  be  started  near  Valencia.  Its 
leader  in  the  field  was  to  be  young  Pino  Vega,  in 
several  campaigns  the  personal  aide-de-camp  of 
General  Rojas,  a  young  man  indebted  to  his  chief 
for  many  favors,  devoted  to  him  by  reason  of 
mutual  confidence  and  esteem.  If  successful,  this 
revolt  against  Alvarez  was  to  put  Vega  in  com 
mand  of  the  army,  to  free  Rojas  and  to  place  him 
as  president  at  Miraflores.  To  the  women  the 
thought  that  Rojas  might  become  president  was 
intolerable.  It  was  because  he  had  consented  to 
be  president  that  he  had  suffered.  The  mere 
thought  of  the  office,  and  of  the  cruelties  that  had 
been  practised  by  the  man  who  held  it,  made  it,  to 
the  women,  terrifying. 

For  Rojas  they  wanted  neither  position  nor 
power.  They  wanted  Rojas  free.  They  wanted 
to  hold  him  close,  to  touch  him,  to  look  into  his 
eyes,  to  see  the  gentle,  understanding  smile. 

Each  felt  that  there  was  nothing  she  could  not 
do,  no  sacrifice  she  would  not  make,  if  once  more 
she  could  sit  beside  him,  holding  his  hand,  waiting 
in  silence  for  the  joy  of  hearing  him  speak.  And 
of  the  younger  girl  the  sacrifice  has  been  required. 
At  least  a  way  in  which  she  could  assist  the  cause 
that  would  lead  to  the  freedom  of  her  father  had 
been  presented  to  her.  From  Paris,  Pino  Vega 


The  White  Mice 

had  written  her  mother,  requesting  permission  to 
ask  Inez  to  be  his  wife. 

To  the  girl,  of  all  the  men  she  knew  in  Venezuela, 
Pino  was  the  most  attractive.  They  both  had 
lived  for  years  outside  of  their  own  country  and,  in 
consequence,  had  much  in  common.  He  was 
thirty-seven,  older  than  she  by  fourteen  years,  but, 
as  has  already  been  pointed  out,  in  appearance,  in 
manner,  in  spirits,  he  seemed  much  younger  than 
his  years.  To  his  detriment  nothing  could  be  said 
that  could  not  have  been  said  of  the  other  young 
men  of  his  class  in  his  country.  But  the  girl  was 
not  in  love  with  the  young  man  of  that  class,  nor 
with  her  country. 

Her  brother  had  been  sacrificed  in  what  to  her 
had  seemed  but  a  squalid  struggle  for  place  be 
tween  two  greedy  politicians ;  her  father,  for  the 
very  reason  that  he  had  served  his  country  loyally, 
faithfully,  and  was,  in  consequence,  beloved  by  the 
people,  had  been  caged  like  a  wild  animal.  She 
had  no  love  for  her  native  land.  She  distrusted 
and  feared  it. 

Night  after  night,  as  she  paced  the  walk  along 
the  cliff  where  the  waves  broke  at  her  feet,  she 
shuddered  to  think  of  returning  to  that  land,  only 
sixty  miles  from  her,  that  had  robbed  her  of  so 
much  that  had  made  life  beautiful;  of  all,  up  to  the 

00 


The  White  Mice 

present,  that  had  made  it  happy.  She  wished  never 
to  see  it  again.  Could  her  father  have  been  re 
turned  to  her  she  would  have  rejoiced  that  they 
were  exiles.  And,  as  she  distrusted  the  country,, 
she  distrusted  the  men  of  the  country,  at  least 
those  of  the  class  to  which  Vega  belonged.  She 
knew  them  well,  the  born  orators,  born  fighters,, 
born  conspirators.  To  scheme,  to  plot,  to  organ 
ize  against  the  authority  of  the  moment  was  in 
their  blood. 

If  she  thought  of  a  possible  husband,  and,  in  a 
country  where  a  girl  marries  at  fifteen,  and  where 
her  first,  if  not  her  only  duty  in  life,  is  to  marry, 
it  would  have  been  surprising  if  she  had  not,  the 
man  she  considered  as  a  husband  was  not  a  Venez 
uelan.  For  their  deference  to  women,  for  their 
courtesy  to  each  other,  for  their  courage  as  shown 
in  their  campaigns,  for  their  appreciation  of  art, 
of  letters,  of  music,  she  greatly  admired  her 
countrymen;  but  that  they  themselves  created 
nothing,  that  they  scorned  labor  and  all  those  who 
labored,  made  them,  to  Inez,  intolerable. 

That  she  was  half  an  American  of  the  North 
was  to  her  a  source  of  secret  pride.  With  satisfac 
tion  she  remembered  young  men  she  had  known 
during  the  summers  on  the  North  Shore  and  Cape 
Cod,  the  young  men  who,  during  the  first  of  the 

91 


The  White  Mice 

week,  toiled  and  sweltered  in  their  offices,  and 
who,  when  the  week-end  came,  took  their  pleasures 
strenuously,  in  exercise  and  sport.  She  liked  to 
remember  that  her  American  and  English  devotees 
had  treated  her  as  a  comrade,  as  an  intelligent, 
thinking  creature.  They  had  not  talked  to  her 
exclusively  of  the  beauty  of  her  eyes,  her  teeth  and 
hair. 

She  preferred  their  breathless,  "Well  played, 
partner!"  to  the  elaborate,  "I  saw  the  Senorita  at 
mass  this  morning.  As  she  raised  her  eyes  to 
Heaven — the  angels  grew  jealous." 

When  the  mother  told  Inez  that  Colonel  Vega 
had  written,  proposing  on  his  return  to  pay  his  ad 
dresses  to  her,  the  girl  was  in  genuine  distress. 
She  protested  earnestly. 

In  thirty  years  Senora  Rojas  unconsciously  had 
assimilated  the  thoughts,  the  habits,  the  attitude 
of  mind  of  the  women  of  her  adopted  country,  and, 
when  Inez  had  finished  her  protest,  her  mother, 
seeing  the  consequence  from  her  own  point  of  view, 
was  greatly  disturbed.  "It  is  most  unfortunate," 
she  said.  "Pino  is  selfish;  when  he  learns  you 
will  not  listen  to  him  he  will  be  very  angry  and 
he  will  be  less  eager  to  help  your  father.  He 
will  think  only  of  himself.  If  you  only  could 

have  cared " 

92 


The  White  Mice 

"Pino  could  not  be  so  cruel/'  said  the  girl.  But 
she  spoke  as  though  she  were  arguing  against  her 
own  conviction.  "He  cannot  be  so  vain — so 
spoiled,"  she  protested,  "that  because  one  woman 
fails  to  fall  on  her  knees  to  him,  he  must  punish 
her." 

The  talk  between  the  mother  and  daughter  had 
taken  place  a  week  before  Colonel  Vega's  arrival 
from  Paris.  On  the  day  his  steamer  was  due, 
Senora  Rojas  again  spoke  to  Inez. 

"After  mass  this  morning,"  she  said,  "I  con 
sulted  Father  Paul  about  Pino.  He  hopes  it  will 
be  possible  for  you  not  to  give  him  a  direct  answer. 
He  says  Pino  will  be  leaving  us  almost  at  once. 
He  is  to  land  north  of  Porto  Cabello,  and  our  peo 
ple  are  to  join  him  there.  Father  Paul  thinks," 
the  Senora  hesitated,  and  then  went  on  hastily, 
"you  might  let  him  go  in  ignorance.  You  might 
ask  for  time  to  consider.  You  might  even  tell 
him " 

The  girl's  cheeks  flushed  crimson  and  the  tears 
came  to  her  eyes.  The  mother  looked  away. 
After  an  instant's  silence  she  exclaimed  bitterly: 
"It  is  only  a  lie  to  a  man  who  has  lied  to  many 
women!  I  think  of  nothing,"  she  declared,  "but 
that  it  would  keep  him  true  to  your  father.  What 
else  matters!"  she  broke  forth,  "I  would  lie,  cheat, 

93 


The  White  Mice 

steal,"  she  cried,  "if  I  could  save  your  father  one 
moment's  suffering." 

The  girl  took  the  hand  of  the  elder  woman  and 
pressed  it  to  her  cheek.  "  I  know,"  she  whispered, 
"I  know." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence.  "If  it  were 
anything  else!"  protested  the  girl.  "If  I  could 
change  places  with  father  I  would  run  to  do  it — 
you  know  that — but  this" — with  a  gesture  of  re 
pugnance  the  girl  threw  out  her  hands — "to  pre 
tend — to  care!  It  is  degrading,  it  makes  me  feel 
unclean." 

"You  will  make  an  enemy,"  asked  the  mother 
coldly,  "of  the  only  person  who  can  bring  your 
father  back  to  us  ?  Sooner  than  let  Pino  think  you 
care  for  him,  you  would  let  him  turn  against  us  ? 
You  and  Pino,"  she  pleaded,  "are  old  friends. 
Your  father  is  his  friend.  What  more  natural!" 
She  broke  forth  hysterically.  "I  beg  of  you,"  she 
cried,  "I  command  you  not  to  make  an  enemy  of 
Pino.  Tell  him  to  wait,  tell  him  that  now  you  can 
think  of  nothing  but  your  father,  but  that  when 
your  father  is  free,  that  if  he  will  only  set  him  free 
The  mother  held  the  girl  toward  her,  search 
ing  her  eyes.  "Promise  me,"  she  begged. 

Inez  regarded  her  mother  unhappily,  and  turned 
away. 

94 


The  White  Mice 

This,  then,  on  the  afternoon  of  Colonel  Vega's 
arrival  at  Curasao  was  the  position  toward  him 
and  toward  each  other  of  the  three  women  of  the 
Rojas  household,  and  explains,  perhaps,  why,  when 
that  same  afternoon  Captain  Codman  told  them 
the  marvelous  tale  of  Roddy's  proposition,  Senora 
Rojas  and  her  daughter  received  the  news  each  in 
a  different  manner. 

Before  she  had  fully  understood,  Senora  Rojas 
exclaimed  with  gratitude: 

"It  is  the  hand  of  God.  It  is  His  hand  working 
through  this  great  company." 

"Not  at  all,"  snapped  Captain  Codman.  "The 
company  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  As  far  as  I 
can  see  it  is  only  the  wild  plan  of  a  harum-scarum 
young  man.  He  has  no  authority.  He's  doing  it 
for  excitement,  for  an  adventure.  He  doesn't 
seem  to  know  anything  of — of  what  is  going  on — 
and,  personally,  I  think  he's  mad.  He  and  his 
friend  are  the  two  men  who  twice  drove  past  your 
house  this  morning.  What  his  friend  is  like  I 
don't  know;  but  Forrester  seems  quite  capable  of 
forcing  his  way  in  here.  He  wants  what  he  calls 
'credentials/  In  fact,  when  I  refused  to  help  him, 
he  as  much  as  threatened  to  come  here  and  get 
them  for  himself." 

The  voice  of  Senora  Rojas  was  shaken  with 
95 


The  White  Mice 

alarm.  "He  is  coming  here!"  she  cried.  "But 
if  he  is  seen  here  they  will  know  at  once  at  Caracas, 
and  my  husband  will  suffer.  It  may  mean  the  end 
of  everything."  Her  voice  rose,  trembling  with 
indignation.  How  dare  he!  How  dare  he,  for 
the  sake  of  an  achenture,  risk  the  life  of  my  hus 
band  ?  How  can  he  expect  to  succeed  where  our 
friends  have  failed,  and  now,  when  Pino  has  re 
turned  and  there  is  hope." 

"I  told  him  that,"  said  the  Consul. 

"You  warned  him,"  insisted  the  Senora;  "you 
told  him  he  must  not  come  near  us  ?" 

Inez,  who,  with  her  sister,  stood  eagerly  intent 
behind  the  chair  in  which  their  mother  was  seated, 
laid  her  hand  soothingly  upon  the  Senora's  shoulder. 

"Is  it  best,"  she  asked,  "to  turn  the  young  man 
away  without  learning  what  he  wishes  to  do  ? 
Living  in  Porto  Cabello,  he  may  know  something 
we  could  not  know.  Did  you  find  out,"  she  asked 
the  Consul,  "in  what  way  Mr.  Forrester  wishes  to 
help  us  r" 

"No,"  confessed  Captain  Codman,  "I  did  not. 
I  was  so  taken  aback,"  he  explained;  "he  was  so 
ignorant,  so  cocksure,  that  he  made  me  mad.  And 
I  just  ordered  him  out,  and  I  told  him,  told  him  for 
his  own  good,  of  course,"  the  Consul  added  hastily, 
"that  he  talked  too  much." 

96 


The  White  Mice 

With  critical  eyes  Inez  regarded  her  old  friend 
doubtfully,  and  shook  her  head  at  him. 

"And  how  did  he  take  that  ?"  she  asked. 

"He  told  me,"  answered  the  Consul,  painfully 
truthful,  "  that  my  parrot  had  said  the  same  thing, 
and  that  we  might  both  be  wrong." 

There  was  an  instant's  silence,  and  then  Inez 
laughed.  In  shocked  tones  her  mother  exclaimed 

o 

reprovingly. 

"But  he  comes  here,"  protested  the  girl,  "to  do 
us  a  service,  the  greatest  service,  and  he  is  ordered 
away.  Why  should  we  refuse  to  let  him  help  us, 
to  let  any  one  help  us.  W7e  should  make  the  most 
of  every  chance  that  offers." 

Senora  Rojas  turned  in  her  chair  and  looked 
steadily  at  her  daughter. 

"Your  advice  is  good,  Inez,"  she  said,  "but  it 
comes  strangely  from  you." 

At  the  same  moment,  as  though  conjured  by  her 
thought,  a  servant  announced  Colonel  Vega,  and 
that  gentleman,  with  several  of  those  who  had 
lunched  with  him  at  the  Cafe  Ducrot,  entered  the 
room.  In  alarm  Captain  Codman  waited  only  to 
shake  hands  with  the  visitors  and  then  precipitate 
ly  departed.  But  in  the  meeting  of  the  exiles 
there  was  nothing  that  would  have  compromised 
him.  The  reception  of  Colonel  Vega  by  the  three 

97 


The  White  Mice 

women  was  without  outward  significance.  They 
greeted  him,  not  as  a  leader  of  their  conspiracy,  but 
as  they  might  have  received  any  friend  who,  after 
an  absence,  had  returned  to  them.  When  he  bent 
over  the  hand  of  Inez  he  raised  his  liquid  eyes  to 
hers,  but  the  girl  welcomed  him  simply,  without 
confusion. 

He  decided  that  her  mother  could  not  as  yet 
have  told  her  of  his  wishes.  Had  she  done  so  he 
felt  sure,  in  view  of  the  honor  he  would  pay  her, 
her  embarrassment  at  meeting  him  would  have 
been  apparent  to  all. 

Vega  himself  elected  to  tell  the  ladies  of  the 
attack  made  upon  him  at  the  Cafe  Ducrot.  He 
made  little  of  »t.  He  let  the  ladies  understand  that 
his  life,  like  that  of  all  public  men,  was  always  at 
the  mercy  of  assassins.  To  Roddy  he  gave  full 
credit. 

"Imagine  this  man  reaching  for  his  weapon/' 
he  related  dramatically,  "myself  too  far  from  him 
to  fall  upon  him,  and  my  arms  resting  upon  the 
shoulders  of  my  two  good  friends.  Their  safety, 
also,  is  in  my  mind.  But  I  am  helpless.  I  saw 
the  villain  smile  confidently.  He  points  the 
weapon.  Then  the  young  man  springs  upon  him 
and  the  bullets  pass  us  harmlessly.  Believe  me, 
but  for  Mr.  Forrester  all  three  of  us,  General 

08 


The  White  Mice 

Pulido,  Colonel  Ramon  and  myself,  might  now 
be  dead." 

The  two  gentlemen  designated  dismissed  the 
thought  with  a  negligent  wave  of  the  hand.  It 
suggested  that,  to  soldiers  like  themselves,  being 
dead  was  an  annoyance  to  which  they  had  grown 
accustomed. 

"Mr.  Forrester!"  exclaimed  Inez,  catching  at 
the  name. 

"Mr.  Forrester!"  repeated  her  mother.  "But  I 
thought — I  was  told  only  just  now  that  he  knew 
nothing  of  our  plans." 

"That  is  quite  true,"  Colonel  Vega  assured  her. 
"He  was  not  with  us.  He  was  there  by  accident." 

"Let  us  rather  say,"  corrected  Senora  Rojas 
piously,  "he  was  placed  there  by  a  special  Provi 
dence  to  save  you." 

That  the  Almighty  should  be  especially  con 
cerned  in  his  well-being  did  not  appear  to  Vega  as 
at  all  unlikely. 

He  nodded  his  head  gravely, 

"It  may  be  so,"  he  admitted. 

Through  force  of  habit  Senora  Rojas  glanced 
about  her;  but  the  open  windows  showed  the 
empty  garden,  and  around  her,  seated  in  two  rows 
of  rocking-chairs,  the  ladies  facing  the  door,  the 
men  facing  the  ladies,  she  saw  only  friends. 

99 


The  White  Mice 

"But  why,"  she  asked,  "is  young  Mr.  Forrester 
not  in  the  confidence  of  his  father  ?  Can  he  not 
trust  his  own  son  ?" 

As  though  sure  of  her  answer  she  cast  a  tri 
umphant  glance  at  the  daughter  who  had  dared, 
against  Captain  Codman  and  herself,  to  champion 
Mr.  Forrester's  son.  Pino  frowned  mysteriously. 
He  did  not  like  to  say  that  with  any  action  of  the 
great  Mr.  Forrester  he  was  not  acquainted.  So 
he  scowled  darkly  and  shook  his  head. 

"It  is  a  puzzle,"  he  said;  "the  young  man  is  a 
fine  fellow.  To  him  I  owe  my  life."  He  appealed 
to  his  friends,  who,  in  time  to  the  sedate  rocking  of 
the  chairs,  nodded  gravely.  "  But  his  father  is  very 
decided.  He  cables  us  to  send  him  at  once  to  Porto 
Cabello.  He  instructs  us  not  to  let  him  know  what 
we  plan  to  do.  I  learned  that  in  Porto  Cabello  he 
is  only  a  workman,  or,  a  little  better,  the  foreman 
of  the  Jamaica  coolies.  I  do  not  say  so,"  Pino 
pointed  out,  as  though  if  he  wished  he  might  say 
a  great  deal,  "  but  it  looks  as  though  he  wTere  here 
for  some  punishment — as  though  he  had  displeased 
his  father.  Or,"  he  demanded,  "why  should  his 
father,  who  is  so  wealthy,  give  his  son  the  wages  of 
a  foreman  ?" 

During  the  visit  of  the  conspirators  the  traditions 
of  Spanish  etiquette  gave  Colonel  Vega  no  oppor- 

100 


The  White  Mice 

tunity  to  separate  Inez  from  the  others;  and  soon, 
without  having  spoken  to  her  alone,  he  and  his 
followers  departed. 

When  they  had  gone,  Inez,  as  was  her  custom 
when  she  wished  to  be  by  herself,  ordered  her  pony 
and  rode  out  on  the  cliff  road  toward  the  orange 
groves.  Riding  unattended  was  a  breach  of 
Spanish-American  convention.  But  her  mother 
permitted  it,  and,  in  the  eyes  of  the  people  of 
Willemstad,  her  long  residence  abroad,  and  the 
fact  that  she  was  half  American  of  the  North,  par 
tially  excused  it.  Every  morning  at  sunrise,  before 
the  heat  of  the  day,  and  just  before  the  sun  set, 
Inez  made  these  excursions.  They  were  the  bright 
moments  of  her  present  life.  If  she  did  not  wish 
to  think,  they  prevented  her  from  thinking;  if  she 
did  wish  to  think,  they  protected  her  from  intrusion, 
and  gave  her  strength  and  health  to  bear  the  grind 
ing  anxiety  of  the  ether  hours.  They  brought  back 
to  her,  also,  memories  of  rides  of  former  days, 
before  her  father  had  been  taken  from  her,  when 
they  had  trotted  politely  over  the  tan  bark  of  Rot 
ten  Row,  or  when,  with  her  soldier  brother,  she 
had  chased  the  wild  cattle  on  the  plantation. 

Now,  with  her  head  bent,  with  the  hand  that 
held  the  reins  lying  loosely  on  her  knee,  she  rode 
at  a  walk,  her  body  relaxed,  her  eyes  seeing  nothing. 

101 


The  White  Mice 

Her  mind  was  intent  upon  her  problem,  one  in 
which  her  answer  to  Pino  Vega  was  but  a  part. 
To  carry  out  the  plan  she  had  in  mind  she  needed 
a  man  to  help  her,  and  there  were  two  men  to 
whom  she  might  appeal.  But  only  one,  not  both 
of  them,  could  help  her.  She  was  determined  not 
to  return  from  her  ride  until  she  had  decided  which 
one  it  should  be. 

After  an  hour,  as  though  she  had  reached  her 
decision  and  was  fearful  lest  she  might  reconsider 
it,  she  lifted  the  pony  into  a  gallop  and  raced  to 
Casa  Blanca.  On  arriving  there  she  went  directly 
to  her  room,  wrote  a  note,  and  returned  with  it  to 
the  stable  where  the  groom  was  just  removing  the 
saddle  from  her  pony. 

He  was  an  old  man,  trusted  by  Inez.  As  a  body 
servant  he  had  first  served  her  brother,  then  her 
father,  and  after  the  imprisonment  of  General 
Rojas,  had  volunteered  to  follow  the  women  of  the 
family  into  exile.  For  a  moment  the  girl  regarded 
him  earnestly. 

"Pedro,"  she  asked,  "what  would  you  do  to 
save  the  master?" 

When  the  man  was  assured  he  had  understood 
her  he  lowered  the  saddle  to  the  ground,  and  stand 
ing  erect  threw  out  his  arms  with  his  open  palms 
toward  her.  In  pantomime  he  seemed  to  signify 

102 


The  White  Mice 

that  for  the  purpose  she  named,  his  body,  his  life 
was  at  her  disposition. 

Inez  showed  him  the  note. 

"You  will  take  this,"  she  said,  "to  an  American, 
Mr.  Forrester.  He  is  at  one  of  the  hotels.  No  one 
must  know  you  are  seeking  him,  no  one  must  see 
you  give  him  this  note.  Not  even  my  mother  must 
suspect  that  any  message  has  been  sent  from  this 
house  to  that  gentleman.  When  he  has  read  the 
note  he  will  say  'yes'  or  'no.'  If  he  asks  questions 
you  will  shake  your  head.  As  soon  as  you  get  your 
answer  come  directly  to  me." 

She  gave  him  the  note  and  after  an  impressive 
delay  continued  :  "  There  is  a  new  plan  to  save  my 
father.  If  you  deliver  this  note  safely  you  will 
have  taken  the  first  step  to  set  him  free.  If  you 
blunder,  if  it  is  found  out  that  Mr.  Forrester  and 
one  of  the  Rojas  family  are  conspiring  together, 
it  will  mean  greater  cruelties  for  my  father;  it  may 
mean  his  death." 

The  girl  had  spoken  in  the  way  she  knew  would 
best  appeal  to  the  man  before  her.  And  she  was 
not  disappointed.  His  eyes  shone  with  excitement. 
That  he  was  conspiring,  that  he  was  a  factor  in  a 
plot,  that  the  plot  had  in  view  the  end  he  so  much 
desired,  filled  him  with  pleasure  and  pride.  Cross 
ing  himself  he  promised  to  carry  out  her  orders. 

103 


The  White  Mice 

As  Inez  returned  to  the  mam  portion  of  the 
house  the  sun  was  just  sinking  into  the  sea;  and, 
to  keep  their  daily  tryst,  her  mother  and  sister  were 
moving  toward  the  cliff.  While  the  crimson  disk 
descended,  the  three  women  stood  silent  and  im 
movable,  the  face  of  each  turned  toward  the  rim 
of  the  horizon.  As  though  her  eyes  could  pierce 
the  sixty  miles  that  lay  between  her  and  her  father 
Inez  leaned  forward,  her  fingers  interlaced,  her 
lips  slightly  apart.  That,  at  that  moment,  he  was 
thinking  of  her,  that  he  was  looking  to  where  he 
knew  she  was  on  guard,  and  thinking  of  him, 
moved  her  as  greatly  as  though  the  daily  ceremony 
was  for  the  first  time  being  carried  forward.  A 
wandering  breeze,  not  born  of  the  sea,  but  of  the 
soil,  of  tropical  plants  and  forests,  and  warm  with 
sunshine,  caressed  her  face.  It  came  from  the  land 
toward  which  her  eyes  were  turned.  It  was  com 
forting,  sheltering,  breathing  of  peace.  As  it 
touched  her  she  smiled  slightly.  She  accepted  it 
as  a  good  omen,  as  a  message  sent  from  across  the 
sea,  to  tell  her  that  in  the  step  she  had  taken  she 
had  done  well. 


104 


IV 

AFTER  their  dinner  at  the  hotel,  Roddy  and 
Peter  strolled  down  the  quay  and  over  the 
tiny  drawbridge  that  binds  Otrabanda  to  Willem- 
stad.  There,  for  some  time,  half-way  between  the 
two  towns,  they  loitered  against  the  railing  of  the 
bridge,  smoking  and  enjoying  the  cool  night  breeze 
from  the  sea.  After  his  long  nap  Roddy  was  wake 
ful.  He  had  been  told  that  Willemstad  boasted 
of  a  cafe  chantant,  and  he  was  for  finding  it.  But 
Peter,  who  had  been  awake  since  the  ship's  steward 
had  aroused  him  before  sunrise,  doubted  that  there 
was  a  cafe  chantant,  and  that  if  it  did  exist  it  could 
keep  him  from  sleep,  and  announced  his  deter 
mination  to  seek  his  bed. 

Left  to  himself,  Roddy  strolled  slowly  around  the 
narrow  limits  of  the  town.  A  tew  of  the  shops  and 
two  of  the  cafes  were  still  open,  throwing  bright 
spaces  of  light  across  the  narrow  sidewalks,  but  the 
greater  number  of  houses  were  tightly  barred;  the 
streets  slumbered  in  darkness.  For  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  Roddy  sauntered  idly,  and  then  awoke  to 
the  fact  that  he  was  not  alone.  Behind  him  in  the 


The  White  Mice 

shadow,  a  man  with  his  face  hidden  in  a  shawl,  the 
sound  of  his  footsteps  muffled  by  his  rope  sandals, 
was  following  his  wanderings. 

Under  the  circumstances,  after  the  developments 
of  the  day,  Roddy  was  not  surprised,  nor  was  he 
greatly  interested.  Even  in  Porto  Cabello,  at  one 
time  or  another,  every  one  was  beset  by  spies. 
And  that  here,  in  the  central  office  of  the  revolution 
ists,  Alvarez  should  be  well  represented  was  but 
natural. 

Twice,  softly  and  quickly,  the  man  who  followed 
had  approached  him  from  the  :ear,  and  each  time, 
lest  he  should  have  some  more  serious  purpose 
than  to  simply  spy  upon  him,  Roddy  had  stepped 
into  the  street.  But  when  for  the  third  time  the 
man  drew  near,  his  approach  was  so  swift  that 
Roddy  had  no  time  to  move  away.  The  man 
brushed  against  him,  and  when  he  had  passed 
Roddy  found  a  letter  had  been  pressed  into  his  hand. 

The  hour  was  late,  Roddy  looked  like  a  tourist, 
the  note  had  been  delivered  covertly.  Roddy  con 
cluded  it  contained  an  invitation  to  some  disreputa 
ble  adventure,  and  after  calling  the  man  the  name 
associated  with  what  Roddy  believed  to  be  his 
ancient  and  dishonorable  profession,  he  tossed  the 
note  into  the  street. 

With  a  cry  of  dismay  the  man  ran  toward  it, 
1 06 


The  White  Mice 

but  Roddy  was  before  him.  As  the  note  had  left 
his  hand  his  fingers  had  touched  upon  heavy, 
waxen  seals. 

In  an  instant  he  had  retrieved  the  note,  and,  fol 
lowed  eagerly  by  the  man,  carried  it  to  the  light  of 
a  gas  lamp.  The  envelope  was  not  illuminating, 
the  sealing-wax  was  stamped  with  no  crest  or 
initials,  the  handwriting  was  obviously  disguised. 

After  observing  that  from  the  shadow  the  man 
still  watched  him,  while  at  the  same  time  he  kept 
an  anxious  lookout  up  and  down  the  street,  Roddy 
opened  the  note.  It  read:  "You  have  come  to 
Curacao  for  a  purpose.  One  who  has  the  success 
of  that  purpose  most  at  heart  desires  to  help  you. 
To-morrow,  just  before  sunrise,  walk  out  the  same 
road  over  which  you  drove  to-day.  Beyond  the 
Cafe  Ducrot  the  bearer  of  this  letter  will  wait  for 
you  with  a  led  horse.  Follow  him.  If  you  think 
he  is  leading  you  into  danger,  order  him  to  ride  in 
advance,  and  cover  him  with  your  revolver.  If 
you  will  come,  say  to  the  bearer,  e  Vengo'  if  not, 
'No  Vengo?  He  has  orders  not  to  reply  to  any 
question  of  yours.  If  you  speak  of  this  to  others, 
or  if  the  bearer  of  this  suspects  you  have  arranged 
for  others  to  follow  you,  he  will  only  lead  you  back 
to  your  hotel,  and  your  chance  to  right  a  great 
wrong  will  have  passed." 

J07 


The  White  Mice 

There  was  no  signature.  But  as  though  it  were 
an  afterthought,  at  the  bottom  of  the  page  was 
written,  "Adventures  are  for  the  adventurous." 

Standing  well  in  the  light  of  the  street  lamp,  with 
his  back  to  the  houses,  with  his  face  toward  the 
waiting  messenger,  Roddy  read  the  letter  three 
times.  But  after  the  first  reading  his  eyes  neglected 
the  body  of  the  note  and  raced  to  the  postscript. 
That  was  the  line  that  beckoned  and  appealed; 
to  him  it  seemed  that  whoever  wrote  the  letter 
doubted  he  would  come  to  the  rendezvous,  and 
was  by  that  line  enticing  him,  mocking  him,  daring 
him  to  refuse.  It  held  forth  both  a  promise  and  a 
challenge. 

As  to  who  the  writer  of  the  note  might  be,  there 
were  in  Roddy's  mind  three  explanations.  He  con 
sidered  tnem  hastily.  Peter  was  the  author  of  the 
note,  and  it  was  a  poor  joke  intended  to  test  him. 
It  was  a  genuine  offer  from  some  one  who  had 
guessed  the  object  of  his  visit  to  Curacao  and 
honestly  wished  to  be  of  service.  It  came  from  the 
man  in  the  mask  and  his  associates,  who,  resenting 
his  interference  of  the  morning,  had  pleasant 
thoughts  of  luring  him  down  a  lonely  ioad  and 
leaving  him  lying  there.  Which  of  the  three  sup 
positions  might  be  correct  it  was  impossible  to 
know,  but  the  postscript  decided  him.  He  beck- 

108 


The  White  Mice 

oned  to  the  messenger,  and  the  man  ran  eagerly 
forward.  "I  will  come,"  said  Roddy.  The  man 
smiled  with  pleasure,  bowed  to  him,  and  dived 
into  the  darkness.  As  he  ran  down  the  street 
Roddy  stood  listening  until  the  soft  patter  of  the 
sandals  had  ceased,  and  then  slowly  returned  to 
the  hotel. 

For  an  hour,  still  speculating  as  to  who  his 
anonymous  friend  might  be,  he  stood,  smoking, 
upon  the  balcony.  On  the  quay  below  him  a  negro 
policeman  dozed  against  a  hawser-post.  A  group 
of  cargadores,  stretched  at  length  upon  stacks  of 
hides,  chattered  in  drowsy  undertones.  In  the 
moonlight  the  lamps  on  the  fishing-boats  and  on 
the  bridge,  now  locked  against  the  outside  world, 
burned  mistily,  and  the  deck  of  the  steamer 
moored  directly  below  him  was  as  deserted  and 
bare,  as  uncanny  and  ghostlike,  as  the  deck  of  the 
ship  of  the  Ancient  Mariner.  Except  for  the 
chiming  of  ships'  bells,  the  whisper  of  the  running 
tide,  and  the  sleepy  murmur  of  the  longshoremen, 
the  town  of  Willemstad  was  steeped  in  sleep  and 
silence.  Roddy,  finding  he  could  arrive  at  no 
satisfactory  explanation  of  the  note,  woke  the  night 
porter,  and  telling  that  official  he  was  off  before 
daybreak  to  shoot  wild  pigeons,  and  wanted  his 
coffee  at  that  hour,  betook  himself  to  his  cot.  It 

109 


The  White  Mice 

seemed  as  though  he  had  not  twice  tossed  on  the 
pillow  before  the  night-watchman  stood  yawning 
at  his  side. 

Roddy  and  Peter  occupied  adjoining  rooms,  and 
the  door  between  the  two  was  unlocked.  When 
Roddy  had  bathed,  dressed,  and,  with  a  feeling  of 
some  importance,  stuck  his  revolver  into  his  pocket, 
he  opened  the  door,  and,  still  suspicious  that  his 
faithful  friend  was  sending  him  on  a  wild-goose 
chase,  for  a  few  moments  stood  beside  his  bed. 
But  Peter,  deep  in  the  sleep  of  innocence,  was 
breathing  evenly,  stentoriously.  Not  without  en 
vying  him  the  hours  of  rest  still  before  him,  Roddy 
helped  himself  to  Peter's  revolver,  left  him  a  line 
saying  it  was  he  who  had  borrowed  it,  and  went 
out  into  the  dark  and  empty  streets. 

Half  awake  and  with  his  hunger  only  partially 
satisfied,  Roddy  now  regarded  his  expedition  with 
little  favor.  He  reverted  strongly  to  the  theory 
that  some  one  was  making  a  fool  of  him.  He 
reminded  himself  that  if  in  New  York  he  had 
received  such  a  note,  he  either  would  have  at  once 
dismissed  it  as  a  hoax  or  turned  it  over  to  the 
precinct  station-house.  But  as  the  darkness 
changed  to  gray,  and  the  black  bulk  of  the  Cafe 
Ducrot  came  into  view,  his  interest  quickened. 
He  encouraged  himself  with  the  thought  that  while 

no 


The  White  Mice 

in  New  York  the  wording  of  the  note  would  be 
improbable,  hysterical,  melodramatic,  in  hot,  tur 
bulent  Venezuela  it  was  in  keeping  with  the  country 
and  with  the  people. 

Since  setting  forth  from  the  hotel  a  half  hour  had 
passed,  and  as  he  left  the  Cafe  Ducrot  behind  him 
the  night  faded  into  the  gray-blue  mist  of  dawn. 
Out  of  the  mist,  riding  slowly  toward  him,  mounted 
on  one  pony  and  leading  another,  Roddy  saw  the 
man  who  on  the  night  before  had  brought  him  the 
letter.  He  was  leaning  forward,  peering  through 
the  uncertain  light.  When  he  recognized  Roddy 
he  galloped  to  him,  and  with  evident  pleasure  but 
without  speaking,  handed  him  the  reins  of  the  led 
pony.  Then  motioning  to  Roddy  to  wait,  he  rode 
rapidly  down  the  road  over  which  the  American 
had  just  come.  Roddy  settled  himself  in  the  sad 
dle,  and  with  a  smile  of  satisfaction  beamed  upon 
the  ghostlike  world  around  him.  So  far,  at  least, 
the  adventure  promised  to  be  genuine.  Certainly, 
he  argued,  Peter  could  not  have  prepared  a  joke 
so  elaborate. 

Apparently  satisfied  that  Roddy  had  brought  no 
one  with  him,  the  messenger  now  rejoined  him,  and 
with  a  gesture  of  apology  took  the  lead,  and  at  a 
smart  trot  started  in  the  same  direction  in  which 
Roddy  had  been  walking. 


in 


The  White  Mice 

Roddy  gave  his  guide  a  start  of  fifty  feet,  and 
followed.  With  the  idea  of  a  possible  ambush 
still  in  his  mind,  he  held  the  pony  well  in  hand, 
and  in  front  of  him,  in  his  belt,  stuck  one  of  the 
revolvers.  He  now  was  fully  awake.  No  longer 
in  the  darkness  was  he  stumbling  on  foot  over  the 
stones  and  ruts  of  the  road.  Instead,  the  day  was 
breaking  and  he  had  under  him  a  good  horse,  on 
which,  if  necessary,  he  could  run  away.  The 
thought  was  comforting,  and  the  sense  of  possible 
danger  excited  him  delightfully.  When  he  re 
membered  Peter,  sleeping  stolidly  and  missing 
what  was  to  come,  he  felt  a  touch  of  remorse. 
But  he  had  been  warned  to  bring  no  one  with  him, 
and  of  the  letter  to  speak  to  no  one.  He  would 
tell  Peter  later.  But,  he  considered,  what  if  there 
should  be  nothing  to  tell,  or,  if  there  were,  what  if 
he  should  not  be  alive  to  tell  it  ?  If  the  men  who 
had  planned  to  assassinate  Colonel  Vega  intended 
to  punish  him  for  his  interference,  they  could 
not  have  selected  a  place  or  hour  better  suited 
to  their  purpose.  In  all  the  world,  apparently, 
he  was  the  only  soul  awake.  On  either  side  of 
him  were  high  hedges  of  the  Spanish  bayonet, 
and  back  of  them  acres  of  orange  groves.  The 
homes  of  the  planters  lay  far  from  the  highway, 
and  along  the  sides  of  the  road  there  were  no 

112 


The  White  Mice 

houses,  no  lodge  gates,  not  even  a  peon's  thatched 
hut. 

Roddy  was  approaching  a  sharp  turn  in  the 
road,  a  turn  to  the  left  at  almost  right  angles.  It 
was  marked  by  an  impenetrable  hedge.  Up  to 
now,  although  the  hedges  would  have  concealed  a 
regiment,  the  white  road  itself  had  stretched  before 
him,  straight  and  open.  But  now  the  turn  shut 
it  from  his  sight.  The  guide  had  reached  the 
corner.  Instead  of  taking  it,  he  turned  in  his  sad 
dle  and  pulled  his  pony  to  a  walk. 

To  Roddy  the  act  seemed  significant.  It  was 
apparent  that  they  had  arrived  at  their  rendezvous. 
Sharply,  Roddy  also  brought  his  pony  to  a  walk, 
and  with  a  heavy  pull  on  the  reins  moved  slowly 
forward.  The  guide  drew  to  the  right  and  halted. 
To  Roddy's  excited  imagination  this  manoeuvre 
could  have  but  one  explanation.  The  man  was 
withdrawing  himself  from  a  possible  line  of  fire. 
Shifting  the  reins  to  his  left  hand,  Roddy  let  the 
other  fall  upon  his  revolver.  Holding  in  the  pony 
and  bending  forward,  Roddy  peered  cautiously 
around  the  corner. 

What  he  saw  was  so  astonishing,  so  unlike  what 
he  expected,  so  utterly  out  of  place,  that,  still  lean 
ing  forward,  still  with  his  hand  on  his  revolver, 
he  stared  stupidly. 


The  White  Mice 

For  half  a  mile  the  road  lay  empty,  but  directly 
in  front  of  him,  blocking  the  way,  was  a  restless, 
pirouetting  pony,  and  seated  upon  the  pony, 
unmoved  either  by  his  gyrations  or  by  the  ap 
pearance  of  a  stranger  in  her  path,  was  a  young 
girl. 

As  Roddy  had  cautiously  made  his  approach  he 
had  in  his  mind  a  picture  of  skulking  Venezuelans 
with  pointed  carbines;  his  ears  were  prepared  for 
a  command  to  throw  up  his  hands,  for  the  slap  of 
a  bullet.  He  had  convinced  himself  that  around 
the  angle  of  the  impenetrable  hedge  this  was  the 
welcome  that  awaited  him.  And  when  he  was 
confronted  by  a  girl  who  apparently  was  no  more 
a  daughter  of  Venezuela  than  she  was  a  masked 
highwayman,  his  first  thought  was  that  this  must 
be  some  innocent  foreigner  stumbling  in  upon  the 
ambush.  In  alarm  for  her  safety  his  eyes  searched 
the  road  beyond  her,  the  hedges  on  either  side. 
If  she  remained  for  an  instant  longer  he  feared  she 
might  be  the  witness  to  a  shocking  tragedy,  that 
she  herself  might  even  become  a  victim.  But  the 
road  lay  empty,  in  the  hedges  of  spiked  cactus  not 
a  frond  stirred;  and  the  aged  man  who  had  led  him 
to  the  rendezvous  sat  motionless,  watchful  but 
undisturbed. 

Roddy  again  turned  to  the  girl  and  found  her 
114 


1 

"o 


C/3 


The  White  Mice 

closely  observing  him.  He  sank  back  in  his  saddle 
and  took  off  his  hat.  Still  scanning  the  hedges, 
he  pushed  his  pony  beside  hers  and  spoke  quickly. 

"Pardon  me,"  he  said,  "but  I  think  you  had 
better  ride  on.  Some  men  are  coming  here.  They 
— they  may  be  here  now." 

That  his  anxiety  was  entirely  on  her  account 
was  obvious.  The  girl  colored  slightly,  and  smiled. 
As  she  smiled,  Roddy  for  the  first  time  was  looking 
directly  at  her,  and  as  he  looked  his  interest  in 
assassins  and  his  anxiety  as  to  what  they  might  do 
passed  entirely  from  him.  For  months  he  had  not 
seen  a  girl  of  his  own  people,  and  that  this  girl 
was  one  of  his  own  people  he  did  not  question. 
Had  he  first  seen  her  on  her  way  to  mass,  with  a 
lace  shawl  across  her  shoulders,  with  a  high  comb 
and  mantilla,  he  would  have  declared  her  to  be 
Spanish,  and  of  the  highest  type  of  Spanish  beauty. 
Now,  in  her  linen  riding-skirt  and  mannish  coat 
and  stock,  with  her  hair  drawn  back  under  a  broad- 
brimmed  hat  of  black  straw,  she  reminded  him 
only  of  certain  girls  with  whom  he  had  cantered 
along  the  Ocean  Drive  at  Newport  or  under  the 
pines  of  Aiken.  How  a  young  woman  so  habited 
had  come  to  lose  herself  in  a  lonely  road  in  Curacao 
was  incomprehensible.  Still,  it  was  not  for  him 
to  object.  That  the  gods  had  found  fit  to  send  her 


ii 


The  White  Mice 

there  was,  to  Roddy,  sufficient  in  itself,  and  he  was 
extremely  grateful.  But  that  fact  was  too  ap 
parent.  Though  he  was  unconscious  of  it,  the 
pleasure  in  his  eyes  was  evident.  He  still  was  too 
startled  to  conceal  his  admiration. 

The  girl  frowned,  her  slight,  boyish  figure  grew 
more  erect. 

"My  name  is  Rojas,"  she  said.  "My  father  is 
General  Rojas.  I  was  told  you  wished  to  help 
him,  and  last  night  I  sent  you  a  note  asking  you  to 
meet  me  here." 

She  spoke  in  even,  matter-of-fact  tones.  As  she 
spoke  she  regarded  Roddy  steaiily.  When,  the 
night  before,  Inez  had  sent  the  noce,  she  had  been 
able  only  to  guess  as  to  what  manner  of  man  it 
might  be  with  whom  she  was  making  a  rendezvous 
at  daybreak,  in  a  lonely  road.  And  she  had  been 
more  than  anxious.  Now  that  she  saw  him  she 
recognized  the  type  and  was  reassured.  But  that 
he  was  worthy  of  the  secret  she  wished  to  confide 
in  him  she  had  yet  to  determine.  As  she  waited 
for  him  to  disclose  himself  she  was  to  all  outward 
appearances  tranquilly  studying  him.  But  in 
wardly  her  heart  was  trembling,  and  it  was  with 
real  relief  that,  when  she  told  him  her  name,  she 
saw  his  look  of  admiration  disappear,  and  in  his 
eyes  come  pity  .and  genuine  feeling. 

116 


The  White  Mice 

"Oh!"  gasped  Roddy  unhappily,  his  voice  filled 
with  concern.  "Oh,  I  am  sorry!" 

The  girl  slightly  inclined  her  head. 

"I  came  to  ask  you,"  she  began,  speaking  with 
abrupt  directness,  "what  you  propose  to  do  ?" 

It  was  a  most  disconcerting  question.  Not 
knowing  what  he  proposed  to  do,  Roddy,  to  gain 
time,  slipped  to  the  ground  and,  hat  in  hand, 
moved  close  to  the  pommel  of  her  saddle.  As  he 
did  not  answer,  the  girl  spoke  again,  this  time  in  a 
tone  more  kindly.  "And  to  ask  why  you  wish  to 
help  us?" 

As  though  carefully  considering  his  reply,  Roddy 
scowled,  but  made  no  answer.  In  a  flash  it  had 
at  last  come  to  him  that  what  to  Peter  and  to  him 
self  had  seemed  a  most  fascinating  game  was  to 
others  a  struggle,  grim  and  momentous.  He 
recognized  that  until  now  General  Rojas  had  never 
been  to  him  a  flesh-and-blood  person,  that  he  had 
not  appreciated  that  his  rescue  meant  actual  life 
and  happiness.  He  had  considered  him  rather  as 
one  of  the  pieces  in  a  game  of  chess,  which  Peter 
and  himself  were  secretly  playing  against  the  Com 
mandant  of  the  San  Carlos  prison.  And  now, 
here,  confronting  him,  was  a  human  being,  living, 
breathing,  suffering,  the  daughter  of  this  chessman, 
bone  of  his  bone,  flesh  of  his  flesh,  demanding  of 


The  White  Mice 

the  stranger  by  what  right  he  made  himself  her 
father's  champion,  by  what  right  he  pushed  him 
self  into  the  tragedy  of  the  Rojas  family.  In  his 
embarrassment  Roddy  decided  desperately  to  begin 
at  the  very  beginning,  to  tell  the  exact  truth,  to 
omit  nothing,  and  then  to  throw  himself  upon  the 
mercy  of  the  court. 

The  gray  mist  of  the  morning  had  lifted.  Under 
the  first  warm  rays  of  the  sun,  like  objects  develop 
ing  on  a  photographer's  plate,  the  cactus  points 
stood  out  sharp  and  clear,  the  branches  of  the 
orange  trees  separated,  assuming  form  and  outline, 
the  clusters  of  fruit  took  on  a  faint  touch  of  yellow. 
From  the  palace  yard  in  distant  Willemstad  there 
drifted  toward  them  the  boom  of  the  morning  gun. 

With  his  reins  over  his  arm,  his  sombrero 
crumpled  in  his  hands,  his  face  lifted  to  the  face 
of  the  girl,  Roddy  stood  in  the  road  at  attention, 
like  a  trooper  reporting  to  his  superior  officer. 

"We  were  in  the  tea-house  of  the  Hundred  and 
One  Steps,"  said  Roddy.  "We  called  ourselves 
the  White  Mice." 

Speaking  quickly  he  brought  his  story  down  to 
the  present  moment.  When  he  had  finished,  Inez, 
who  had  been  bending  toward  him,  straightened 
herself  in  the  saddle  and  sat  rigidly  erect.  Her 
lips  and  brows  were  drawn  into  two  level  lines, 

iz8 


The  White  Mice 

her  voice  came  to  him   from    an    immeasurable 
distance. 

"Then  it  was  a  joke  ?"  she  said. 

"A  joke!"  cried  Roddy  hotly.  "That's  most 
unfair.  If  you  will  only  give  us  permission  we'll 
prove  to  you  that  it  is  no  joke.  Perhaps,  as  I  told 
it,  it  sounded  heartless.  I  told  it  badly.  What 
could  I  say — that  I  am  sorry  ?  Could  I,  a  stranger, 
offer  sympathy  to  you  ?  But  we  are  sorry.  Ever 
since  Peter  proposed  it,  ever  since  I  saw  your 
father " 

The  girl  threw  herself  forward,  trembling.  Her 
eyes  opened  wide. 

"You  saw  my  father!"  she  exclaimed.  "Tell 
me,"  she  begged,  "  did  he  look  well  ?  Did  he  speak 
to  you  ?  When  did  you—  "  she  stopped  suddenly, 
and  turning  her  face  from  him,  held  her  arm  across 
her  eyes. 

"  It  was  four  months  ago,"  said  Roddy.  "  I  was 
not  allowed  to  speak  to  him.  We  bowed  to  each 
other.  That  was  all." 

"I  must  tell  them,"  cried  the  girl,  "they  must 
know  that  I  have  seen  some  one  who  has  seen  him. 
But  if  they  know  I  have  seen  you— 

She  paused;  as  though  asking  advice  she 
looked  questioningly  at  Roddy.  He  shook  his 
head. 

119 


The  White  Mice 

"I  don't  understand/'  he  said. 

"My  mother  and  sister  don't  know  that  I  am 
here,"  Inez  told  him.  "If  they  did  they  would  be 
very  angry.  No  one,"  she  added  warningly,  "  must 
know.  They  are  afraid  of  you.  They  cannot 
understand  why  you  offer  to  help  us.  And  they 
mistrust  you.  That  is  why  I  had  to  see  you  here 
in  this  way."  With  a  shrug  of  distaste  the  girl 
glanced  about  her.  "Fortunately,"  she  added, 
"you  understand." 

"Why,  yes,"  Roddy  assented  doubtfully.  "I 
understand  your  doing  what  you  did,  but  I  don't 
understand  the  others.  Who  is  it,"  he  asked,  "who 
mistrusts  me  ?  Who,"  he  added  smiling,  "besides 
yourself?" 

"My  mother,"  answered  Inez  directly,  "your 
consul,  Captain  Codman,  Colonel  Vega,  and 

In  surprise,  Roddy  laughed  and  raised  his  eye 
brows. 

"Vega!"  he  exclaimed.  "Why  should  Vega 
mistrust  me?"  Knowing  what  was  in  his  mind, 
the  girl  made  him  a  formal  little  bow. 

"It  is  not,"  she  answered,  "because  you  saved 
his  life."  In  obvious  embarrassment  she  added: 
"It  is  because  you  are  not  in  the  confidence  of 
your  father.  You  can  see  that  that  must  make  it 
difficult  for  Colonel  Vega." 

1 20 


The  White  Mice 

Bewildered,  Roddy  stared  at  her  and  again 
laughed. 

"And  what  possible  interest,"  he  demanded, 
"can  my  father  have  in  Colonel  Vega  ?" 

For  a  moment,  with  distrust  written  clearly  in 
her  eyes,  the  girl  regarded  him  reproachfully. 
Then  she  asked  coldly: 

"  Do  you  seriously  wish  me  to  think  that  you  do 
not  know  that  ?" 

While  they  had  been  speaking,  even  when  Inez 
had  made  it  most  evident  to  Roddy  that  to  herself 
and  to  her  friends  he  was  a  discredited  person,  he 
had  smiled  patiently.  His  good  humor  had  ap 
peared  unassailable.  But  now  his  eyes  snapped 
indignantly.  He  pressed  his  lips  together  and 
made  Inez  an  abrupt  bow. 

"I  assure  you,  I  know  nothing,"  he  said  quickly. 

Fie  threw  the  reins  over  the  neck  of  the  pony,  and 
with  a  slap  on  its  flank  drove  it  across  the  road 
within  reach  of  the  waiting  Pedro.  Then  lifting 
his  hat,  and  with  another  bow,  he  started  in  the 
direction  of  Willemstad.  Inez,  too  surprised  to 
speak,  sat  staring  after  him.  But  before  he  had 
taken  a  dozen  steps,  as  though  she  had  called  him 
back  and  asked  him  to  explain,  he  halted  and  re 
turned.  He  had  entirely  recovered  his  good  humor, 
but  his  manner  when  he  spoke  was  not  conciliatory. 

121 


The  White  Mice 

"The  trouble  is  this,"  he  said,  "your  friends  are 
so  deep  in  plots  that  they  have  lost  sight  of  the 
thing  that  counts.  While  they  are  'mistrusting,' 
and  suspecting,  and  spying  on  each  other,  a  man  is 
dying.  I  know  that  much,  anyway.  That  is  all 
I  care  to  know."  As  though  it  were  an  extenuat 
ing  fact,  he  added :  "  It  is  a  question  of  character. 
It  is  a  Venezuelan  way  of  doing  things.  But  it  is 
not  our  way.  It  was  very  kind  of  you  to  give  me 
this  chance  to  explain  our  interfering.  But  I  see 
now — everybody,"  he  added  dryly,  "has  taken 
pains  to  make  it  very  plain — that  we  are  a  nui 
sance."  He  paused,  and  to  assure  her  it  was  not 
she  he  was  upbraiding,  smiled  cheerfully.  In  his 
most  confidential  manner  he  continued  lightly: 
"For  myself,  I  have  always  thought  there  was 
something  to  say  for  the  fools  who  rush  in  where 
angels  fear  to  tread.  I  remember  once  seeing  a 
fool  rush  into  a  burning  building  and  rescue  a 
child,  while  I  and  some  other  angels  shouted  for 
ladders."  He  nodded,  and  again  lifted  his  hat. 
"Good-by,"  he  said,  "and  thank  you."  Leaving 
her  seated  silent  in  the  saddle,  he  walked  away. 

This  time  he  had  turned  the  bend  in  the  road 
and  had  proceeded  along  it  some  hundred  yards, 
when  from  behind  him  he  heard  approaching  at  a 
reckless  pace  the  hoof-beats  of  a  pony.  Looking 

122 


The  White  Mice 

back,  he  saw  a  whirlwind  of  fluttering  skirts  and 
scattered  sparks  and  pebbles.  Inez,  followed  by 
Pedro,  drew  up  even  with  him;  and  as  she  dragged 
her  pony  to  a  halt,  threw  herself  free  of  the  pommel 
and  dropped  at  his  feet  to  the  road.  Had  he  not 
caught  her  by  the  shoulders  she  would  have  stum 
bled  into  his  arms.  A  strand  of  hair  had  fallen 
across  her  face,  her  eyes  were  eager,  flashing.  She 
raised  her  gloved  hands  impulsively,  and  clasped 
them  before  him. 

"Please!"  she  begged.  "You  must  not  go.  It 
is  true — what  you  say  about  us,  but  you  must 
help  us.  I  did  not  know.  I  had  forgotten.  It  is 
three  years  since  I  talked  to  any  one — any  one 
from  your  country.  I  had  forgotten.  It  is  true; 
we  are  suspicious,  we  are  not  straightforward  like 
you,  like  the  people  in  the  States.  But  you  must 
not  punish  us  for  that.  Not  me!  " 

At  all  times  the  face  raised  to  his  was  beautiful. 
Now,  the  delicate  lips,  like  those  of  a  child  before 
it  breaks  into  sobs,  were  trembling,  the  eyes,  lifted 
appealingly,  were  eloquent  with  tears. 

"You  must  advise  me,"  said  the  girl.  "You 
must  help  me." 

She  raised  her  clasped  hands  higher.  She  re 
garded  him  wistfully,  "Won't  you  ?"  she  begged. 

Her  attack  had  been  swift,  masterly;  every 
123 


The  White  Mice 

feminine  weapon  had  been  brought  into  effective 
action;  and  the  surrender  of  Roddy  was  sudden, 
and  complete.  In  abject  submission  he  proceeded 
incoherently: 

"My  dear  young  lady!"  he  cried.  "But,  my 
dear  young  lady!  " 

He  was  rewarded  with  a  brilliant,  blinding  smile. 

"Then  you  will  help  me  ?"  Inez  asked. 

Roddy  recovered  himself  quickly. 

"My  Spanish  is  very  bad,"  he  answered,  "but 
what  it  sounds  like  in  English  is,  *I  am  at  your 
feet.'" 

The  sun  now  was  shining  brightly,  and  in  the 
open  road  they  were  as  conspicuous  as  though 
they  had  stood  in  a  shop  window  on  Broadway. 
Across  the  road,  in  the  hedge  opposite,  a  gate 
barred  a  path  that  led  into  one  of  the  plantations. 
Roddy  opened  the  gate,  and  together,  followed  by 
Pedro  with  the  ponies,  they  found  a  spot  where 
they  were  hidden  by  the  hedge  from  any  one 
passing  on  the  highway.  Inez  halted  in  the  shade 
of  one  of  the  orange  trees.  Speaking  rapidly,  she 
sketched  for  Roddy  a  brief  history  of  the  various 
efforts  that  had  been  made  to  rescue  her  father. 
She  explained  why  these  efforts  had  failed.  She 
told  him  of  the  revolution  led  by  Pino  Vega,  and 
the  good  it  was  expected  ;o  accomplish. 

124 


The  White  Mice 

At  first  the  girl  spoke  in  some  embarrassment. 
She  knew  that  to  be  where  she  was,  at  that  hour, 
alone  with  a  stranger,  was,  in  the  eyes  of  her 
friends  and  family,  an  unpardonable  offense.  And 
though  she  resented  their  point  of  view,  the  fact 
that  it  existed  disquieted  her.  But  the  man  at 
her  side  did  not  seem  to  consider  talking  to  a  girl 
in  the  open  sunshine  either  as  a  novel  experience 
or  one  especially  disgraceful.  Politely,  with  low 
ered  eyes,  he  gave  to  what  she  said  the  closest 
attention.  The  circumstance  that  they  were  alone, 
even  the  fact  that  she  was  young  and  attractive, 
did  not  once  appear  to  occur  to  him.  Seeing 
this,  Inez  with  each  succeeding  moment  gained 
confidence  in  Roddy  and  in  herself  and  spoke 
freely. 

"That  is  what  we  have  tried  to  do,"  she  said. 
"Now  I  am  going  to  tell  you  why  I  asked  you  to 
meet  me  here  this  morning,  and  how  I  believe  you 
can  help  me.  Three  days  ago  I  received  a  message 
from  my  father." 

Roddy  exclaimed  with  interest,  but  motioned 
eagerly  for  her  to  continue. 

"It  is  in  cipher,"  she  continued,  "but  it  is  his 
handwriting.  It  is  unmistakable.  It  was  given 
to  me  when  I  was  at  church.  I  was  kneeling  in  the 
chapel  of  St.  Agnes,  which  is  in  the  darkest  corner 

125 


The  White  Mice 

of  the  building.  At  first  I  was  alone,  and  then  a 
woman  came  and  knelt  close  beside  me.  She 
was  a  negress,  poorly  dressed,  and  her  face  was 
hidden  by  her  shawl.  For  a  moment  I  thought  she 
was  murmuring  her  prayers,  and  then  I  found  she 
was  repeating  certain  words  and  that  she  was  talk 
ing  at  me.  *I  have  a  letter,  a  letter  from  your 
father/  she  whispered.  I  crowded  closer,  and  she 
dropped  a  piece  of  paper  in  front  of  me  and  then 
got  to  her  feet  and  hurried  away.  I  followed,  but 
there  were  many  people  at  mass,  and  when  I  had 
reached  the  street  she  had  disappeared.  The 
message  she  brought  me  is  this:  'Page  54,  para 
graph  4.'  That  is  all.  It  is  the  second  message 
we  have  had  from  my  father  in  two  years.  The 
first  one  was  by  word  of  mouth,  and  came  a  month 
ago.  The  meaning  of  that  was  only  too  plain. 
But  what  this  one  means  I  cannot  imagine,  nor," 
proceeded  Inez  with  distress,  "can  I  see  why,  if  he 
had  the  chance  to  write  to  us,  he  did  not  write  more 
openly." 

She  looked  appealingly  at  Roddy,  and  paused 
for  him  to  speak. 

"He  was  afraid  the  message  would  be  inter 
cepted,"  said  Roddy.  "What  he  probably  means 
to  do  is  to  send  it  to  you  in  two  parts.  The  second 
message  will  be  the  key  that  explains  this  one. 

126 


The  White  Mice 

He  knew  if  he  wrote  plainly,  and  it  fell  into  the 
wrong  hands — "  Roddy  interrupted  himself,  and 
for  a  moment  remained  silent.  "Page  54,  para 
graph  4,'"  he  repeated.  "  Has  he  sent  you  a  book  ? " 
he  asked.  "Has  any  book  come  to  you  anony 
mously  ?" 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  "No,  I  thought  of 
that,"  she  said,  "but  no  books  have  come  to  us 
that  we  haven't  ordered  ourselves." 

"What  do  the  others  think  ?"  asked  Roddy. 

The  girl  colored  slightly  and  shook  her  head. 

"I  have  not  told  them.  I  knew  my  mother 
would  ask  Pino  to  help  her,  and,"  she  explained> 
"though  I  like  Pino,  for  certain  reasons  I  do  not 
wish  to  be  indebted  to  him  for  the  life  of  my 
father.  Before  appealing  to  him  I  have  been  trying 
for  two  days  to  find  out  the  meaning  of  the  cipher, 
but  I  could  not  do  it,  and  I  was  just  about  to  show 
it  to  my  mother  when  Captain  Codman  told  us  of 
your  offer.  That  made  me  hesitate.  And  then, 
as  between  you  and  Pino,  I  decided  you  were 
better  able  to  help  us.  You  live  in  Porto  Cabello, 
within  sight  of  the  prison.  Pino  will  be  in  the 
field.  His  revolution  may  last  a  month,  it  may 
last  for  years.  During  that  time  he  would  do 
nothing  to  help  my  father.  When  you  risked  being 
shot  yesterday,  it  seemed  to  me  you  showed  you  had 

127 


The  White  Mice 

spirit,  and  also,  you  are  from  the  States,  and  Pino 
is  a  Venezuelan,  so — 

"You  needn't  take  up  the  time  of  the  court/' 
said  Roddy,  "in  persuading  me  that  I  am  the  man 
to  help  you.  To  save  time  I  will  concede  that. 
What  was  the  other  message  you  received  from 
your  father?" 

The  eyes  of  the  girl  grew  troubled  and  her  voice 
lost  its  eagerness. 

"It  was  charged  in  a  French  paper,"  she  said, 
"that  the  prisoners  in  San  Carlos  were  being  killed 
by  neglect.  The  French  minister  is  a  friend  of  our 
family,  and  he  asked  Alvarez  to  appoint  a  com 
mittee  of  doctors  to  make  an  investigation.  Al 
varez  was  afraid  to  refuse,  and  sent  the  doctors  to 
examine  my  father  and  report  on  his  health.  One 
of  them  told  him  that  Alvarez  would  permit  him 
to  send  a  message  to  my  mother,  and  to  tell  her 
himself  whether  he  was,  or  was  not,  ill.  This  is 
the  message  that  they  gave  us  as  coming  from  my 
father. 

"1  don't  know  what  you  gentlemen  may  decide 
as  to  my  health/  he  said,  '  but  /  know  that  I  am 
dying.  Tell  my  wife  that  I  wish  to  be  buried  in 
my  native  country,  and  to  place  upon  my  tomb 
stone  my  name  and  this  epitaph:  "He  wrote  his 
tory,  and  made  history."  The  voice  of  the  girl 

128 


The  White  Mice 

had  dropped  to  a  whisper.  She  recovered  herself 
and  continued  sadly:  "Until  three  days  ago  that 
is  the  only  word  we  have  received  from  my  father 
in  two  years." 

The  expression  on  Roddy's  face  was  one  of  polite 
incredulity.  Seeing  this,  Inez,  as  though  answer 
ing  his  thought,  said  proudly:  "My  father  made 
history  when  he  arranged  the  boundary  line  be 
tween  British  Guiana  and  Venezuela." 

Roddy  shook  his  head  impatiently. 

"I  wasn't  thinking  of  that,"  he  said.  "I  was 
thinking  of  the  message.  It  doesn't  sound  a  bit 
like  your  father,"  he  exclaimed.  "Not  like  what 
I've  heard  of  him." 

The  eyes  of  the  girl  grew  anxious  with  disap 
pointment. 

"Do  you  mean,"  she  asked,  "that  you  think  he 
did  not  send  that  message  ?" 

"It  doesn't  sound  to  me,"  said  Roddy,  "like  the 
sort  of  message  he  would  send,  knowing  the  pain  it 
would  cause.  He  isn't  the  sort  of  man  to  give  up 
hope,  either.  Even  if  it  were  true,  why  should  he 
tell  your  mother  he  is  dying  ?  And  that  epitaph!" 
cried  Roddy  excitedly.  "  That's  not  like  him, 
either!  It  is  not  modest."  With  sudden  eagerness 
he  leaned  toward  her.  "Did  your  father  write 
history  ?"  he  demanded. 

129 


The  White  Mice 

Unable  to  see  the  purpose  of  his  question,  the 
girl  gazed  at  him  in  bewilderment.  "Why,  of 
course/'  she  answered. 

"And  does  any  part  of  it  refer  to  Porto  Cabello  ?" 

After  a  moment  of  consideration  Inez  nodded. 
"The  third  chapter,"  she  said,  "tells  of  the  in 
vasion  by  Sir  Francis  Drake." 

"Chapter  three,  page  fifty-four,  paragraph 
four!'"  shouted  Roddy.  "I'll  bet  my  head  on  it! 
Don't  you  see  what  he  has  done  ?"  he  cried.  "He 
sent  you  the  key  before  he  sent  you  the  cipher. 
The  verbal  message  is  the  key  to  the  written  one. 
They  gave  him  a  chance  to  send  word  to  your 
mother,  and  he  took  it.  He  told  her  he  was  dying 
only  that  he  might  give  her  a  direction,  apparently 
about  an  epitaph,  a  boastful  epitaph.  He  never 
boasted  while  he  was  alive — why  should  he  boast 
on  his  tombstone?  His  real  message  is  this: 
'  Look  in  the  history  I  wrote  of  Venezuela,  on  page 
fifty-four,  paragraph  four,'  and  when  we  have 
found  it,"  cried  Roddy,  "we'll  have  found  the 
way  to  get  him  out  of  prison!" 

Inez  was  not  convinced,  but  his  enthusiasm  was 
most  inspiriting. 

"We  have  the  history  at  the  house,"  she  cried, 
"and  I  know  you  can  find  it  in  the  Spanish  book 
store  in  Willemstad.  I  must  go  at  once." 

130 


The  White  Mice 

She  moved  forward,  greatly  excited,  her  eyes 
lit  with  the  happiness  of  this  new  hope.  Roddy 
ran  to  bring  her  pony,  and  making  a  bridge  of  his 
hands  lifted  her  to  the  saddle.  "If  I  am  right 
about  this,"  he  said,  "  I  must  see  you  again  to-day. 
Where  can  I  meet  you  ?"  , 

In  spite  of  her  eagerness,  the  girl  hesitated.  One 
by  one  the  traditions  of  a  lifetime  were  smashing 
about  her. 

"I  must  tell  my  mother,"  she  pleaded.  "And  I 
know  she  will  not  allow  me " 

"And  she'll  tell  Pino,"  interrupted  Roddy.  To 
detain  her,  he  laid  his  hand  upon  the  reins  and 
shook  them  sharply. 

"Are  you  helping  Pino  to  win  a  revolution,"  he 
demanded,  "or  are  you  helping  me  to  get  your 
father  out  of  prison  ?" 

Inez  gazed  at  him  in  dismay.  In  her  brief 
twenty-two  years  no  man  had  spoken  to  her  in  such 
a  manner.  Among  her  friends  she  knew  of  no 
Venezuelan  who,  no  matter  what  the  provocation, 
would  have  addressed  his  wife,  his  sister,  his 
daughter  in  a  tone  so  discourteous.  And  yet  this 
stranger  was  treating  her,  who,  as  she  had  been 
frequently  and  reliably  informed,  was  the  loveliest 
and  most  lovable  of  her  sex,  as  he  might  a  mutinous 
younger  brother.  In  spite  of  the  new  and  serious 

1.3  ! 


The  White  Mice 

thought  that  now  occupied  her  mind,  this  one  was 
also  sufficiently  novel  to  compel  her  attention.  It 
both  amused  and  fascinated  her.  Here  was  at 
last  one  man  who  was  working  to  help  her  father, 
and  not  only  in  order  to  find  favor  in  her  bright 
eyes.  He  needed  her  wits  and  her  courage;  he 
wanted  her  help,  but  he  wanted  it  as  from  a  com 
rade,  as  he  would  have  asked  it  of  another  man. 
Unconsciously  he  was  paying  her  the  compliment 
that  best  pleased  her.  When  she  nodded  in  assent 
she  laughed  delightedly,  partly  at  him  for  bullying, 
partly  at  herself  that  she  should  for  a  moment  have 
resented  it. 

"I  am  helping  you?"  she  said. 

Not  understanding  why  she  laughed,  Roddy  re 
garded  her  doubtfully. 

Imitating  the  directness  of  his  manner,  Inez 
spoke  quickly.  "You  can  keep  the  pony.  It  is 
new  to  our  stable  and  not  known  to  belong  to  us. 
To-morrow  morning,  before  sunrise,  ride  out  again, 
but  thL  time  take  the  road  to  Otrabanda  and  along 
the  cliff.  Be  sure  to  pass  our  house  before  sunrise. 
Ride  about  a  mile  and  turn  down  a  bridle-path  to 
your  left.  That  will  bring  you  to  the  beach.  If  I 
cannot  go,  Pedro  will  meet  you.  You  will  get 
the  history  my  father  wrote  at  Belancourts,  in 
Willemstad."  P\>r  a  moment  she  regarded  him 


The  White  Mice 

with  friendly  eyes.  "If  you  should  be  right/'  she 
exclaimed,  "how  can  I  ever  thank  you  ?" 

Roddy  smiled  back  at  her  and  shook  his  head. 

"I  don't  know  that  we  were  exactly  looking  for 
gratitude,"  he  said.  "Now,  go!"  he  ordered,  "for 
I  can't  leave  until  you  are  well  out  of  sight." 

With  another  delightful  laugh,  that  to  Roddy 
was  again  inexplicable,  the  girl  accepted  her  dis 
missal.  It  was  her  first  rendezvous,  but,  in  spite 
of  her  inexperience,  she  knew  that  had  it  been 
made  with  a  Venezuelan  the  man  would  not  have 
been  the  one  first  to  bring  it  to  an  end. 

Roddy  impatiently  waited  until  a  quarter  of  an 
hour  had  passed,  then  galloped  to  Willemstad. 
On  the  way  he  put  up  the  pony  at  a  livery-stable  in 
the  suburbs,  and  on  foot  made  his  way  as  quickly 
as  possible  to  the  bookstore.  What  he  wanted,  he 
explained,  were  guidebooks  and  histories  of  Venez 
uela.  Among  those  the  man  showed  him  was  one 
in  three  volumes,  in  Spanish,  by  Sefior  Don  Miguel 
Rojas.  Roddy's  fingers  itched  to  open  it,  but  he 
restrained  himself  and,  after  buying  half  a  dozen 
other  books,  returned  to  his  hotel.  Peter  was  still 
asleep,  and  he  could  not  wait  to  waken  him. 
Locking  himself  in,  he  threw  the  books  he  did  not 
want  upon  the  floor,  and,  with  fingers  that  were  all 
thumbs,  fumbled  at  the  first  volume  of  the  history 


The  White  Mice 

until  he  had  found  page  fifty-four.  His  eyes  ran 
down  it  to  the  fourth  paragraph.  His  knowledge 
of  Spanish  was  slight,  but  it  was  sufficient.  Page 
fifty-four  was  the  description  of  an  attack  from  the 
sea  by  Drake,  upon  the  Fortress  of  San  Carlos. 
Translated  by  Roddy,  paragraph  four  read  as  fol 
lows:  "Seeing  that  it  was  no  longer  possible  to 
hold  the  fortress,  the  defenders  were  assembled  in 
the  guard-room,  and  from  there  conducted  to  the 
mainland,  through  the  tunnel  that  connects  San 
Carlos  with  the  Fortress  of  El  Morro." 

Like  a  man  in  a  trance,  Roddy  walked  to  the 
adjoining  room  and  shook  the  sleeping  Peter  by  the 
shoulder.  Peter  opened  his  eyes,  and  the  look  in 
Roddy's  face  startled  him  into  instant  wakefulness. 

"What's  wrong  ?"  he  demanded. 

"Nothing!"  said  Roddy.  Forgetting  that  to 
Peter  it  was  unintelligible,  he  pointed  with  a 
triumphant  finger  at  paragraph  four. 

"I  have  found  an  underground  passage  into  the 
cell  of  General  Rojas,"  he  said.  "We  must  go 
back  and  dig  him  out." 

In  order  to  avoid  the  heat,  those  planters  who 
lived  some  distance  from  Willemstad  were  in  the 
habit  of  rising  by  candlelight,  and  when  the  sun 
rose  it  found  them  well  advanced  upon  their 
journey.  So  when  on  the  following  morning  Roddy 


The  White  Mice 

again  set  forth  to  meet  Inez  Rojas,  the  few  servants 
who  knew  of  his  early  departure  accepted  it,  and 
the  excuse  he  gave  of  wild-pigeon  shooting,  as  a 
matter  of  course. 

Without  difficulty  Roddy  found  the  bridle-path 
leading  down  from  the  cliff  road  to  the  sea,  and 
after  riding  for  a  short  distance  along  the  beach 
came  upon  Inez,  guarded  by  the  faithful  Pedro. 
The  cliff,  hollowed  at  its  base  by  the  sea,  hung  over 
them,  hiding  them  from  any  one  on  the  cliff  road, 
and  the  waves,  breaking  into  spray  on  an  outer 
barrier  of  rock,  shut  them  from  the  sight  of  those 
at  sea. 

As  Inez  rose  from  the  rock  on  which  she  had 
been  seated  and  came  eagerly  to  meet  him,  her  face 
was  radiant  with  happiness.  Over  night  she  ap 
peared  to  have  gained  in  health  and  strength,  to 
have  grown  younger,  and,  were  it  possible,  more 
beautiful.  The  satisfaction  in  the  eyes  of  Roddy 
assured  her  that  he,  also,  had  solved  the  riddle. 

"You  have  seen  the  book,"  she  called;  "you 
understand  ?" 

"I  think  so,"  replied  Roddy.  "Anyway,  I've 
got  a  sort  of  blueprint  idea  of  it.  Enough,"  he 
added,  "to  work  on." 

"I  didn't  tell  my  mother,"  Inez  announced. 
"Nor,"  she  continued,  as  though  defying  her  own 


The  White  Mice 

misgivings,  "do  I  mean  to  tell  her.  Until  you  can 
get  back  word  to  me,  until  you  say  that  this  time 
you  believe  we  may  hope,  it  seems  to  me  it  would 
be  kinder  to  keep  her  in  ignorance.  But  I  told 
Pedro/'  she  added.  She  flashed  a  grateful  smile 
at  the  old  man,  and  he  bowed  and  smiled  eagerly 
in  return.  "And  he  has  been  able  to  help  me 
greatly.  He  tells  me,"  she  went  on,  "that  his 
father,  who  was  in  the  artillery,  was  often  stationed 
at  Morro  before  it  was  abandoned.  That  was  fifty 
years  ago.  The  tunnel  was  then  used  daily  and 
every  one  knew  of  it.  But  when  the  troops  wTere 
withdrawn  from  Morro  the  passage  was  walled  up 
and  each  end  blocked  with  stone.  In  San  Carlos 
it  opened  into  the  guard-room.  El  Morro  was 
hardly  a  fortress.  It  was  more  of  a  signal-station. 
Originally,  in  the  days  of  the  pirates,  it  was  used 
as  a  lookout.  Only  a  few  men  were  kept  on  guard 
there,  and  only  by  day.  They  slept  and  messed  at 
San  Carlos.  Each  morning  they  were  assembled 
in  the  guard-room,  and  from  there  marched 
through  the  tunnel  to  El  Morro,  returning  again  at 


sunset. ''' 


"I  don't  know  El  Morro,"  said  Roddy. 

"You  have  probably  seen  it,"  Inez  explained, 
"without  knowing  it  was  a  fcrt.  It's  in  ruins  now. 
Have  you  noticed,"  she  asked,  "to  the  right  of  the 

136 


The  White  Mice 

town,  a  little  hill  that  overlooks  the  harbor  ?  It  is 
just  above  the  plain  where  the  cattle  are  corralled 
until  they  are  shipped  to  Cuba.  Well,  the  ruins 
of  El  Morro  are  on  top  of  that  hill.  It  is  about  a 
quarter  of  a  mile  from  San  Carlos,  so  we  know  that 
is  the  length  of  the  tunnel.  Pedro  tells  me,  for 
a  part  of  the  way  it  runs  under  the  water  of  the 
harbor.  It  was  cut  through  the  solid  rock  by  the 
prisoners  at  San  Carlos." 

"There  must  be  a  lot  of  people,"  objected 
Roddy,  "who  know  of  it." 

"Fifty  years  ago  they  knew  of  it,"  returned  Inez 
eagerly,  "  but,  remember,  for  half  a  century  it  has 
virtually  ceased  to  exist.  And  besides,  to  my 
people  there  is  nothing  unusual  in  such  a  tunnel. 
You  will  find  them  connected  with  every  fort  the 
Spaniards  built  along  this  coast,  and  in  Cuba,  and 
on  the  Isthmus  of  Panama.  All  along  the  Spanish 
Main,  wherever  there  is  more  than  one  fort,  you 
will  find  them  linked  together  by  tunnels.  They 
were  intended  to  protect  the  soldiers  from  the  fire 
of  the  enemy  while  they  were  passing  from  one 
position  to  another." 

The  young  people  had  been  standing  ankle-deep 
in  the  soft,  moist  sand.  Now  the  girl  moved  toward 
her  pony,  but  Roddy  still  stood  looking  out  to  sea. 
He  appeared  to  have  entirely  forgotten  that  Inez 

i37 


The  White  Mice 

was  present,  and  to  be  intently  regarding  the  waves 
that  surged  against  the  rocks,  and  burst  into 
glittering  walls  of  foam.  At  last,  with  a  serious 
countenance,  he  came  toward  her. 

"I  shall  tell  the  authorities  at  Porto  Cabello," 
he  said,  "that  they  ought  to  build  a  light-house  on 
El  Morro.  At  any  rate,  I  will  ask  permission  to 
make  a  survey.  As  they  don't  intend  to  pay  father 
for  any  of  his  light-houses,  they  are  not  likely  to 
object.  And  as  I  don't  intend  to  build  one,  father 
can't  object.  He  will  attribute  my  offer  to  mis 
taken  zeal  on  behalf  of  the  company.  And  he  will 
consider  it  another  evidence  of  the  fact  that  I  don't 
understand  his  business.  As  soon  as  I  find  out 
anything  definite  I  will  let  you  know.  And,  by 
the  way,"  he  asked,  "how  am  I  to  let  you  know  ?" 

Inez  gave  him  the  address  of  a  fellow-exile  from 
Venezuela,  living  in  Willemstad,  who  was  in  secret 
communication  with  Pedro.  Through  this  man 
letters  would  reach  her  safely. 

She  turned  to  him  in  farewell,  and  held  out  her 
hand. 

"You  must  be  very  careful,"  she  said. 

"Trust  me!"  answered  Roddy  heartily.  "I 
promise  you  I'll  be  as  mysterious  a  double-dealer 
as  any  Venezuelan  that  ever  plotted  a  plot.  I 
admit,"  he  went  on,  "that  when  I  came  down  here 

138 


The  White  Mice 

I  was  the  frank,  wide-eyed  child,  but,  I  assure  you, 
I've  reformed.  Your  people  have  made  me  a  real 
Metternich,  a  genuine  Machiavelli.  Compared  to 
me  now,  a  Japanese  business  man  is  as  honest  and 
truth-loving  as  Mrs.  Wiggs  of  the  Cabbage  Patch." 

With  a  grin,  Roddy  invited  the  girl  to  sympathize 
with  his  effort  to  conceal  the  seriousness  of  their 
undertaking,  but  she  regarded  him  doubtfully,  and 
frowned.  In  his  heart  Roddy  felt  sorry  for  her. 
It  hurt  him  to  think  that  any  one  so  charming  could 
not  accept  his  theory,  that  the  only  way  to  treat  a 
serious  matter  was  with  flippancy.  But  the  girl 
undeceived  him. 

"You  don't  understand  me,"  she  said  quietly. 
"I  didn't  mean  to  be  careful  to  protect  our  inter 
ests.  I  meant  you  to  be  careful  of  yourself.  If 
anything  were  to  happen  to  you  through  this — " 
She  hesitated  and  looked  away  from  him  toward 
the  sea.  "  Do  you  imagine,"  she  demanded,  "  that 
it  is  easy  for  me  to  ask  what  I  am  asking  of  you  ? 
/  know  I  have  no  right  to  do  it.  I  know  the  only 
possible  excuse  for  me  is  that  I  am  not  asking  it  for 
myself,  but  for  my  father — although,  of  course, 
that  is  asking  it  for  myself." 

"Beauty  in  distress,"  began  Roddy  briskly,  "is 
the  one  thing " 

"That's  what  I  mean,"  interrupted  the  girl 
139 


The  White  Mice 

gratefully,  "the  way  you  take  it,  the  way  you  make 
it  easier  for  me.  Every  other  man  I  know  down 
here  would  tell  me  he  was  doing  it  only  for  me,  and 
he  would  hope  I  would  believe  him.  But  when 
you  say  you  are  helping  beauty  in  distress,  you  are 
secretly  frightened  lest  I  may  not  have  a  sense  of 
humor — and  believe  you.  I  know  you  are  doing 
this  because  you  feel  deeply  for  my  father.  If  I 
didn't  know  that,  if  I  didn't  feel  that  that  were 
true,  all  this  I  have  asked  of  you  would  be  impos 
sible.  But  it  is  possible,  because  I  know  you  first 
tried  to  save  my  father  of  your  own  accord.  Be 
cause  I  know  now  that  it  is  your  nature  to  wish 
to  help  others.  Because  you  are  brave,  and  you 
are  generous." 

But  Roddy  refused  to  be  ennobled. 

"  It's  because  I'm  a  White  Mice,"  he  said.  " My 
oath  compels  me!  How  would  you  like,"  he  de 
manded,  frowning,  "if  we  turned  you  into  an 
Honorary  White  Mouse  ?" 

For  an  instant,  with  perplexed  eyes  and  levelled 
brows,  the  girl  regarded  him  fixedly.  Then  she 
smiled  upon  him.  It  was  the  same  flashing,  blind 
ing  smile  which  the  morning  before  had  betrayed 
him  into  her  hands,  bound  and  captive.  It  was 
a  smile  that  passed  swiftly,  like  a  flash  of  sunshine 
over  a  garden  of  gay  flowers.  It  brought  out  un- 

140 


The  White  Mice 

suspected,  ambushed  dimples.  It  did  fascinating 
and  wholly  indefensible  things  to  her  lips.  It  filled 
her  eyes  with  gracious,  beautiful  meanings.  Inez 
raised  her  head  challengingly. 

"You  think,"  she  declared,  "that  I  cannot  be 
foolish,  too.  But  I  can.  Let's  sit  down  here  on 
this  rock  and  be  quite  foolish." 


**  T  CAN  be  quite  as  foolish  as  you,"  Inez  repeated 
as  Roddy  continued  to  regard  her.  "Some 
day,  when  this  is  over,  when  you  have  made  it  all 
come  right,  we  will  sit  out  here  and  pretend  that 
we  have  escaped  from  Venezuela,  that  we  are  up 
North  in  my  mother's  country — in  your  country. 
We  will  play  these  are  the  rocks  at  York  Harbor, 
and  we'll  be  quite  young  and  quite  happy.  Have 
you  ever  sat  on  the  rocks  at  York  Harbor,"  she 
demanded  eagerly,  "when  the  spray  splashed  you, 
and  the  waves  tried  to  catch  your  feet  ?" 

Roddy  was  regarding  her  in  open  suspicion. 
He  retreated  warily. 

"York  Harbor!"  he  murmured.  "I  discovered 
it!  It  is  named  after  me.  But  you!  I  never 
imagined  you'd  been  there,  and  I  never  imagined 
you  could  be  anything  but  serious,  either.  It 
makes  you  quite  dangerous." 

"Dangerous  ?"  murmured  the  girl. 

"One  is  dangerous,"  said  Roddy,  "when  one  is 
completely  charming." 

The   girl   frowned,    and    her   shoulders  moved 


The  White  Mice 

slightly.  "You  speak,"  she  said,  "like  a  Venezue 
lan." 

But  Roddy  was  in  no  mood  to  accept  reproof. 

"I  told  you,"  he  said,  "I  admire  the  fools  who 
rush  in  where  angels  fear  to  tread.  There  is 
another  man  I  admire  equally,  'the  man  who  runs 
away.'  It  takes  great  courage  to  run  away.  I 
must  do  it  now." 

He  retreated  from  her.  His  eyes  were  filled  with 
a  sudden,  deep  delight  in  her,  and  a  growing  won 
der.  The  girl  regarded  him  steadily. 

"Come  here,"  she  commanded,  "  and  say  'Good- 
by*  to  me." 

Roddy  took  the  slim,  gauntleted  hand  stretched 
out  to  him,  and  for  an  instant  the  girl  held  his  hand 
firmly,  and  then  nodded.  The  smile  this  time  was 
very  near  to  tears. 

"What  you  are  going  to  do,"  she  said,  "is  the 
dangerous  thing  You  don't  know  how  danger 
ous.  If  I  should  not  see  you  again " 

Roddy  looked  down  into  her  eyes,  and  laughed 
from  utter  happiness. 

"You  will  see  me  again,"  he  said. 

His  tone  gave  to  the  words  a  meaning  which 
the  girl  entirely  disregarded. 

"You  will  remember,"  she  went  on,  as  though 
he  had  not  spoken,  "that  we — that  I  am  grateful." 

143 


The  White  Mice 

Roddy  turned  and  smiled  out  at  the  sunlit  sea. 

"You  have  given  me,"  he  answered,  "other 
things  to  remember." 

He  pulled  off  his  sombrero  and  took  the  gaunt- 
leted  hand  in  both  of  his.  He  bowed  over  it  and 
brushed  it  with  his  lips.  The  girl  still  regarded 
him  steadily,  questioningly. 

"Good-by,"  faltered  Roddy. 

His  eyes  sought  hers  wistfully,  appealingly,  with 
all  that  he  felt  showing  in  them.  But  her  own  told 
him  nothing.  Roddy  released  her  hand  with  an 
effort,  as  though  it  were  bound  to  his  with  man 
acles. 

"Now  I  know,"  he  said  gently,  "why  I  came  to 
Venezuela." 

The  girl  made  no  answer,  and  silently  Roddy 
mounted  and  rode  away.  When  he  had  reached 
the  place  where  the  rocks  would  hide  her  from 
sight  he  glanced  back.  He  saw  Inez  standing 
beside  her  pony,  leaning  with  her  arms  across  the 
saddle,  looking  after  him.  Then,  as  he  waved  his 
hand,  she  raised  hers  with  a  gesture  that  seemed  to 
Roddy  partly  a  farewell,  partly  a  benediction. 

The  stable  at  which  Roddy  had  told  Pedro  he 
would  leave  the  pony  was  far  in  the  suburbs,  and 
by  the  time  he  had  walked  to  Willemstad  the 
morning  was  well  advanced. 

144 


"  Now  I  know  why  I  came  to  Venezuela! " 


The  White  Mice 

As  he  approached  the  quay  he  recognized  that  in 
his  absence  some  event  of  unusual  interest  had 
claimed  the  attention  of  the  people.  Everywhere 
men  were  gathered  in  little  groups,  gesticulating, 
laughing,  frowning  importantly,  and  at  the  hotel 
Roddy  was  surprised  to  see,  on  the  balcony  leading 
from  his  room,  Peter  and  the  American  Consul. 
The  sight  of  him  apparently  afforded  them  great 
satisfaction,  and  they  waved  and  beckoned  to  him 
frantically.  Ignoring  their  last  meeting,  the  Con 
sul  greeted  Roddy  as  though  he  were  an  old  friend. 

"Have  you  heard  the  news?"  he  demanded, 
"  It  is  of  great  local  interest,  and  it  should  interest 
you.  Last  night,"  he  explained,  "President  Al 
varez  declared  an  amnesty  for  his  political  oppo 
nents  living  in  foreign  countries.  All  exiles  may 
now  return  to  their  homes." 

He  pointed  at  the  small  passenger  steamer 
lying  at  the  quay  directly  below  the  window.  The 
Blue  Peter  was  at  the  fore,  and  her  deck  was 
crowded  with  excited,  jubilant  Venezuelans. 

"You  see,"  explained  Captain  Codman,  "they 
have  lost  no  time." 

In  a  tone  that  precluded  the  possibility  of  dis 
cussion,  Peter  briskly  added:  "And  we  are  going 
with  them.  I  have  packed  your  bag  and  paid  the 
bill.  We  sail  in  an  hour." 

J45 


The  White  Mice 

The  news  of  the  amnesty  bewildered  Roddy. 
The  wonderful  possibilities  it  so  suddenly  pre 
sented  thrilled  him.  They  were  so  important  that 
with  difficulty  he  made  his  voice  appear  only 
politely  interested. 

"And  Senora  Rojas?"  he  asked. 

"I  regret  to  say/'  answered  Captain  Codman, 
"she  decides  to  take  advantage  of  the  amnesty. 
As  soon  as  she  can  arrange  her  affairs  here  she 
will  return  to  Miramar,  her  home  in  Porto  Ca- 
bello." 

To  Miramar!  Roddy  turned  suddenly  to  the 
window,  and  with  unseeing  eyes  stared  at  the  busy 
harbor.  By  sight  he  knew  the  former  home  of  the 
Rojas  family.  In  his  walks  he  had  often  passed 
before  its  yellow-pillared  front  and  windows  barred 
with  intricate  screens  of  wrought  iron.  Through 
the  great  gates  that  had  hung  before  Mi~amar  since 
it  had  been  the  palace  of  the  Spanish  Governor- 
General,  and  through  which  four  horses  could 
pass  abreast,  he  had  peered  at  the  beautiful  gar 
dens.  He  had  wondered  at  the  moss-covered 
statues,  at  the  orchids  on  the  flamboyant  trees,  with 
their  flowers  of  scarlet,  at  the  rare  plants,  now 
neglected  and  trailing  riotously  across  the  paths, 
choked  with  unkempt  weeds.  Not  an  hour  before, 
when  he  had  parted  from  Inez,  he  had  determined 

146 


The  White  Mice 

to  make  sentimental  journeys  to  that  same  house. 
For  she  had  walked  in  those  gardens,  it  was  through 
those  gates  she  had  swept  in  her  carriage  to  take 
the  air  in  the  Plaza;  at  night,  when  she  slept,  some 
high-ce'linged,  iron-barred  room  of  that  house  had 
sheltered  her.  He  had  pictured  himself  prowling 
outside  the  empty  mansion  and  uncared-for  gar 
den,  thinking  of  the  exile,  keeping  vigil  in  the 
shadow  of  her  home,  freshly  resolving  to  win  back 
her  father  to  health  and  freedom. 

And  now,  by  a  scratch  of  the  pen,  the  best  that 
could  happen  had  come  to  him.  The  house  would 
waken  to  life.  Instead  of  only  the  fragrance  cling 
ing  to  the  vase,  the  rose  itself  would  bloom  again. 
Again  Inez  would  walk  under  the  arch  of  royal 
palms,  would  drive  in  the  Alameda,  would  kneel 
at  Mass  in  the  cool,  dark  church,  while,  hidden  in 
the  shadows,  he  could  stand  and  watch  her.  And 
though,  if  he  hoped  to  save  her  father,  stealth  and 
subterfuge  would  still  be  necessary,  he  could  see 
her,  perhaps,  speak  to  her;  at  least  by  the  faithful 
Pedro  he  could  send  her  written  words,  flowers, 
foolish  gifts,  that  were  worth  only  the  meaning  they 
carried  with  them. 

Feeling  very  much  of  a  hypocrite,  Roddy  ex 
claimed  fervently : 

"  How  wonderful  for  Senora  Rojas !    To  be  near 


The  White  Mice 

him  again!     Is  she  happy  ?     Does  it  make  it  easier 
for  her?" 

With  a  disturbed  countenance  the  Consul 
nodded  gravely. 

"  Yes,"  he  answered,  "she  welcomed  the  change. 
She  believes  it  means  for  her  husband  better  condi 
tions.  She  hopes  even  for  his  pardon;  but — " 
The  Consul  shook  his  head  impatiently,  and  with 
pitying  eyes  looked  down  upon  the  excited  men 
on  the  steamer  below  them. 

"But  what?"  demanded  Roddy. 

"  I  suspect  every  act  of  Alvarez,"  the  Consul  ex 
plained.  "This  looks  like  the  act  of  a  generous 
opponent.  But  I  cannot  believe  it  is  that.  I 
believe  he  knows  all  that  is  being  plotted  against 
him.  I  believe  this  act  of  amnesty  is  only  a  device 
to  put  the  plotters  where  he  can  get  his  hand  on 
them.  He  is  the  spider  inviting  the  flies  into  his 
parlor." 

As  the  little  steamer  passed  the  harbor  mouth 
and  pushed  her  nose  toward  Porto  Cabello,  Roddy, 
with  Peter  at  his  side,  leaned  upon  the  starboard 
rail.  Roddy  had  assured  Inez  that  Peter  must 
be  given  their  full  confidence,  and  he  now  only 
waited  a  fitting  moment  to  tell  him  of  what  had 
occurred  that  morning,  in  so  far,  at  least,  as  it 
referred  to  the  tunnel. 

148 


The  White  Mice 

The  eyes  of  both  were  turned  toward  Casa 
Blanca,  now  rapidly  retreating  from  them.  And, 
as  they  watched  it,  the  mind  of  each  occupied 
with  thoughts  of  its  inmates,  they  saw  a  white 
figure  leave  the  house,  and,  moving  slowly,  halt 
at  the  edge  of  the  cliff. 

Roddy,  his  eyes  straining  toward  the  coast-line,, 
took  off  his  hat  and  stood  with  it  clasped  in  his 
hands.  Peter  saw  the  movement,  and  to  hide  a  smile 
of  sympathy,  looked  down  at  the  white  foam  rush 
ing  below  them. 

"Roddy,"  he  asked,  "what  sort  of  a  girl  is  Inez 
Rojas?" 

His  eyes  still  seeking  the  figure  on  the  rocks,  and 
without  turning  his  head,  Roddy  answered  with 
startling  directness: 

"What  sort  of  a  girl  ?"  he  growled.  "The  sort 
of  a  girl  7  am  going  to  marry!" 

More  moved  than  he  knew,  and  thinking  himself 
secure  in  the  excited  babel  about  him  and  in  the 
fact  that  the  others  spoke  in  Spanish,  Roddy  had 
raised  his  voice.  He  was  not  conscious  he  had 
done  so  until,  as  he  spoke,  he  saw  a  man  leaning 
on  the  rail  with  his  back  toward  him,  give  an  in 
voluntary  start.  Furious  with  himself,  Roddy  bit 
his  lip,  and  with  impatience  waited  for  the  man 
to  disclose  himself.  For  a  moment  the  stranger 

149 


The  White  Mice 

remained  motionless,  and  then,  obviously  to  find 
out  who  had  spoken,  slowly  turned  his  head. 
Roddy  found  himself  looking  into  the  glowing, 
angry  eyes  of  Pino  Vega.  Of  the  two  men,  Roddy 
was  the  first  to  recover.  With  eagerness  he  greeted 
the  Venezuelan;  with  enthusiasm  he  expressed  his 
pleasure  at  finding  him  among  his  fellow-passen 
gers,  he  rejoiced  that  Colonel  Vega  no  longer  was 
an  exile.  The  Venezuelan,  who  had  approached 
trembling  with  resentment,  sulkily  murmured  his 
thanks.  With  a  hope  that  sounded  more  like  a 
threat  that  they  would  soon  meet  again,  he  begged 
to  be  allowed  to  rejoin  his  friends. 

"Now  you've  done  it!"  whispered  Peter  cheerily. 
"  And  he  won't  let  it  rest  there,  either." 

"  Don't  you  suppose  I  know  that  better  than  you 
do,"  returned  Roddy  miserably.  He  beat  the  rail 
with  his  fist.  "It  should  not  have  happened  in  a 
thousand  years,"  he  wailed.  "He  must  not  know 
I  have  ever  even  seen  her." 

"  He  Joes  know,"  objected  Peter,  coming  briskly 
to  the  point.  "  What  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"  Lie  to  him,"  said  Roddy.  "  He  is  an  old  friend 
of  the  family.  She  told  me  so  herself.  She 
thought  even  of  appealing  to  him  before  she  ap 
pealed  to  us.  If  he  finds  out  I  have  met  her  alone 
at  daybreak,  1  have  either  got  to  tell  him  why  we 

150 


The  White  Mice 

met  and  what  we  are  trying  to  do,  or  he'll  believe, 
in  his  nasty,  suspicious,  Spanish-American  way, 
that  I  am  in  love  with  her,  and  that  she  came  there 
to  let  me  tell  her  so." 

Roddy  turned  on  Peter  savagely. 

"  Why  didn't  you  stop  me  ?"  he  cried. 

"Stop  you — talking  too  much?"  gasped  Peter. 
"Is  that  my  position  ?  If  it  is,  I  resign." 

The  moon  that  night  threw  black  shadows  of 
shrouds,  and  ratlines  across  a  deck  that  was 
washed  by  its  radiance  as  white  as  a  bread-board. 
In  the  social  hall,  the  happy  exiles  were  rejoicing 
noisily,  but  Roddy  stood  apart,  far  forward,  look 
ing  over  the  ship's  side  and  considering  bitterly 
the  mistake  of  the  morning.  His  melancholy  self- 
upbraidings  were  interrupted  by  a  light,  alert  step, 
and  Pino  Vega,  now  at  ease,  gracious  and  on  guard, 
stood  bowing  before  him. 

"I  do  not  intrude  ?"  he  asked. 

Roddy,  at  once  equally  on  guard,  bade  him 
welcome. 

"I  have  sought  you  out,"  said  the  Venezuelan 
pleasantly,  "because  I  would  desire  a  little  talk 
with  you.  I  believe  we  have  friends  in  common." 

"It  is  possible,"  said  Roddy.  "I  have  been  in 
Porto  Cabello  about  four  months  now." 

"It  was  not  of  Porto  Cabello  that  I  spoke,"  con- 
15* 


The  White  Mice 

tinued  Vega,  "but  of  Cura9ao."  He  looked  into 
Roddy's  eyes  suddenly  and  warily,  as  a  swordsman 
holds  the  eyes  of  his  opponent.  "  I  did  not  under 
stand,"  he  said,  "that  you  knew  the  Rojas  family  ?" 

"I  do  not  know  them,"  answered  Roddy. 

Vega  turned  his  back  to  the  moon,  so  that  his 
face  was  in  shadow.  With  an  impatient  gesture 
he  flicked  his  cigarette  into  the  sea.  As  though 
he  found  Roddy's  answer  unsatisfactory,  he  paused. 
He  appeared  to  wish  that  Roddy  should  have  a 
chance  to  reconsider  it.  As  the  American  re 
mained  silent,  Vega  continued,  but  his  tone  now 
was  openly  hostile. 

"I  have  been  Chief  of  Staff  to  General  Rojas  for 
years,"  he  said.  "I  have  the  honor  to  know  his 
family  well.  Senora  Rojas  treats  me  as  she  did 
her  son,  who  was  my  dearest  friend.  I  tell  you 
this  to  explain  why  I  speak  of  a  matter  which  you 
may  think  does  not  concern  me.  This  morning, 
entirely  against  my  will,  I  overheard  you  speaking 
to  your  friend.  He  asked  you  of  a  certain  lady. 
You  answered  boldly  you  intended  to  marry  her." 
Vega's  voice  shook  slightly,  and  he  paused  to  con 
trol  it.  "Now,  you  inform  me  that  you  are  not 
acquainted  with  the  Rojas  family.  What  am  I 
to  believe?" 

"I  am  glad  you  spoke  of  that,"  said   Roddy 


The  White  Mice 

heartily.     "I  saw  that  you  overheard  us,  and  I 
was  afraid  you'd  misunderstand  me " 

The  Venezuelan  interrupted  sharply. 

"I  am  well  acquainted  with  your  language!" 

"You  speak  it  perfectly,"  Roddy  returned,  "but 
you  did  not  understand  it  as  I  spoke  it.  The 
young  lady  is  well  known  in  Willemstad.  Our 
Consul,  as  you  are  aware,  is  her  friend.  He  ad 
mires  her  greatly.  He  told  me  that  she  is  half 
American.  She  has  been  educated  like  an  Ameri 
can  girl,  she  rides,  she  plays  tennis.  What  my 
friend  said  to  me  was,  'What  sort  of  a  girl  is 
Senorita  Rojas?'  and  I  answered,  'She  is  the  sort 
of  girl  I  am  going  to  marry/  meaning  she  is  like 
the  girls  in  my  own  country,  one  of  our  own  people, 
like  one  of  the  women  I  some  day  hope  to  marry." 

Roddy  smiled  and  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"Now  do  you  understand  ?"  he  asked. 

The  Venezuelan  gave  no  answering  smile.  His 
eyes  shone  with  suspicion.  Roddy  recognized  that 
between  his  desire  to  believe  and  some  fact  that 
kept  him  from  believing,  the  man  was  acutely 
suffering. 

"Tell  me,  in  a  word,"  demanded  Vega  sharply, 
"give  me  your  word  you  do  not  know  her." 

"I  don't  see,"  said  Roddy,  "that  this  is  any  of 
your  damned  business!" 

153 


The  White  Mice 

The  face  of  Vega  checked  him.  At  his  refusal 
to  answer,  Roddy  saw  the  look  of  jealousy  that 
came  into  the  man's  eyes  and  the  torment  it 
brought  with  it.  He  felt  a  sudden  pity  for  him, 
a  certain  respect  as  for  a  fellow-sufferer.  He  him 
self  had  met  Inez  Rojas  but  twice,  but,  as  he  had 
told  her,  he  knew  now  why  he  had  come  to  Venez 
uela.  This  older  man  had  known  Inez  for  years, 
and  to  Roddy,  arguing  from  his  own  state  of  mind 
regarding  her,  the  fact  was  evidence  enough  that 
Vega  must  love  her  also.  He  began  again,  but 
now  quietly,  as  he  would  argue  with  a  child. 

"I  see  no  reason  for  making  any  mystery  of  it," 
he  said.  "I  did  meet  Miss  Rojas.  But  I  can't 
say  I  know  her.  I  met  her  when  she  was  out  rid 
ing  with  her  groom.  I  thought  she  was  an  Amer 
ican.  She  needed  some  help,  which  I  was  able 
to  give  her.  That  is  all." 

Vega  approached  Roddy,  leaning  forward  as 
though  he  were  about  to  spring  on  him.  His  eyes 
were  close  to  Roddy's  face. 

"And  what  was  the  nature  of  this  help?"  he 
demanded. 

"You  are  impertinent,"  said  Roddy. 

"Answer  me!"  cried  the  Venezuelan.  "I  have 
the  right.  No  one  has  a  better  right." 

He  flung  up  his  right  arm  dramatically,  and  held 


The  White  Mice 

it  tense  and  trembling,  as  though  it  were  poised 
to  hurl  a  weapon. 

"  You  were  watched ! "  he  cried  hysterically.  "  I 
know  that  you  met.  And  you  tried  to  deceive  me. 
Both  of  you.  She  will  try,  also— 

The  moonlight  disappeared  before  the  eyes  of 
Colonel  Vega,  and  when  again  he  opened  them  he 
was  looking  dizzily  up  at  the  swaying  masts  and 
yards.  Roddy,  with  his  hand  at  Vega's  throat, 
was  forcing  his  shoulders  back  against  the  rail. 
His  free  hand,  rigid  and  heavy  as  a  hammer,  swung 
above  the  Venezuelan's  face. 

"Yesterday,"  panted  Roddy,  "I  saved  your  life. 
If  you  insult  that  girl  with  your  dirty,  Latin  mind, 
so  help  me — I  will  take  it!" 

He  flung  the  man  from  him,  but  Vega,  choking 
with  pain  and  mortification,  staggered  forward. 

"It  is  you  who  insult  her,"  he  shrieked.  "It  is 
I  who  protect  her.  Do  you  know  why  ?  Do  you 
know  what  she  is  to  me  ?  She  is  my  promised 
wife!" 

For  a  moment  the  two  men  stood,  swaying  with 
the  gentle  roll  of  the  ship,  staring  into  each  other's, 
eyes.  Above  the  sound  of  the  wind  in  the  cordage- 
and  the  whisper  of  the  water  against  the  ship's; 
side,  Roddy  could  hear  himself  breathing  in  slowv 
heavy  respirations.  Not  for  an  instant  did  he 


The  White  Mice 

doubt  that  the  man  told  the  truth.  Vega  had 
spoken  with  a  conviction  that  was  only  too  genu 
ine,  and  his  statement,  while  it  could  not  justify, 
seemed  to  explain  his  recent,  sudden  hostility. 
With  a  sharp  effort,  Roddy  recovered  himself. 
He  saw  that  no  matter  how  deeply  the  announce 
ment  might  affect  him,  Vega  must  believe  that  to 
the  American  it  was  a  matter  of  no  possible 
consequence. 

"You  should  have  told  me  this  at  first/'  he  said 
quietly.  "I  thought  your  questions  were  merely 
impertinent." 

Roddy  hesitated.  The  interview  had  become 
poignantly  distasteful  to  him.  He  wished  to  get 
away;  to  be  alone.  He  was  conscious  that  a 
possibility  had  passed  out  of  his  life,  the  thought  of 
which  had  been  very  dear  to  him.  He  wanted  to 
think,  to  plan  against  this  new  condition.  In  dis 
cussing  Inez  with  this  man,  in  this  way,  he  felt  he 
was  degrading  her  and  his  regard  for  her.  But  he 
felt  also  that  for  her  immediate  protection  he  must 
find  out  what  Vega  knew  and  what  he  suspected. 
With  the  purpose  of  goading  him  into  making  some 
disclosure,  Roddy  continued  insolently: 

"And  I  still  think  they  are  impertinent." 

Roddy's  indignation  rose  and  got  the  upper 
hand.  He  cast  caution  aside. 

156 


The  White  Mice 

"With  us,"  he  continued,  "when  a  woman 
promises  to  marry  a  man — he  does  not  spy  on  her." 

"We  spied  on  you,"  protested  Vega.  "We  did 
not  think  it  would  lead  us  to " 

Roddy  cut  him  off  with  a  sharp  cry  of  warning. 

"Be  careful!"  he  challenged. 

"You  met  in  the  road— 

"So  I  told  you,"  returned  Roddy. 

"You  dismounted  and  talked  with  her." 

Roddy  laughed,  and  with  a  gesture  of  impatience 
motioned  Vega  to  be  silent. 

"Is  that  all?  "he  demanded. 

The  Venezuelan  saw  the  figure  he  presented. 
Back  of  him  were  hundreds  of  years  of  Spanish 
traditions,  in  his  veins  was  the  blood  of  generations 
of  ancestors  by  nature  suspicious,  doubting,  jeal 
ous.  From  their  viewpoint  he  was  within  his 
rights;  they  applauded,  they  gave  him  counte 
nance;  but  by  the  frank  contempt  of  the  young 
man  before  him  his  self-respect  was  being  rudely 
handled.  Not  even  to  himself  could  he  justify 
his  attitude. 

"In  my  country,"  he  protested,  "according  to 
our  customs,  it  was  enough." 

The  answer  satisfied  and  relieved  Roddy.  It 
told  him  all  he  wished  to  know.  It  was  now 
evident  that  Vega's  agent  had  seen  only  the  first 


The  White  Mice 

meeting,  that  he  was  not  aware  that  Inez  followed 
after  Roddy,  or  that  the  next  morning  by  the  sea 
shore  they  had  again  met.  The  American  brought 
the  interview  to  an  abrupt  finish. 

"I  refuse,"  said  Roddy  loftily,  "to  discuss  this 
matter  with  you  further.  If  the  mother  of  Senorita 
Rojas  wishes  it,  I  shall  be  happy  to  answer  any 
questions  she  may  ask.  I  have  done  nothing  that 
requires  explanation  or  apology.  I  am  responsible 
to  no  one.  Good-night." 

"Wait!"  commanded  Vega.  "You  will  find  that 
here  you  cannot  so  easily  avoid  responsibilities. 
You  have  struck  me.  Well,  we  have  other  customs, 
which  gentlemen " 

"I  am  entirely  at  your  service,"  said  Roddy. 
He  made  as  magnificent  a  bow  as  though  he  him 
self  had  descended  from  a  line  of  Spanish  grandees. 
Vega's  eyes  lit  with  pleasure.  He  was  now  playing 
a  part  in  which  he  felt  assured  he  appeared  to 
advantage.  He  almost  was  grateful  to  Roddy 
for  permitting  him  to  reestablish  himself  in  his 
own  esteem. 

"My  friends  shall  wait  upon  you,"  he  said. 

"Whenever  you  like,"  Roddy  answered.  He 
started  up  the  deck  and  returned  again  to  Vega. 
"Understand  me,"  he  whispered,  "as  long  as  I'm 
enjoying  the  hospitality  of  your  country  I  accept 

158 


The  White  Mice 

the  customs  of  your  country.  If  you'd  made  such 
a  proposition  to  me  in  New  York  I'd  have  laughed 
at  you."  Roddy  came  close  to  Vega  and  empha 
sized  his  words  with  a  pointed  finger.  "And 
understand  this!  We  have  quarrelled  over  politics. 
You  made  an  offensive  remark  about  Alvarez;  I 
defended  him  and  struck  you.  You  now  demand 
satisfaction.  That  is  what  happened.  And  if  you 
drag  the  name  of  any  woman  into  this  I  won't  give 
you  satisfaction.  I  will  give  you  a  thrashing  until 
you  can't  stand  or  see." 

Roddy  found  Peter  in  the  smoking-room,  and 
beckoning  him  on  deck,  told  him  what  he  had 
done. 

"You're  a  nice  White  Mouse!"  cried  Peter  in 
dignantly.  f(  You're  not  supposed  to  go  about  kill 
ing  people;  you're  supposed  to  save  lives." 

"No  one  is  ever  killed  in  a  duel,"  said  Roddy; 
"  I'll  fire  in  the  air,  and  he  will  probably  miss  me. 
I  certainly  hope  so.  But  there  will  be  one  good 
result.  It  will  show  Alvarez  that  I'm  not  a  friend 
of  Vega's,  nor  helping  him  in  his  revolution." 

:<  You  don't  have  to  shoot  a  man  to  show  you're 
not  a  friend  of  his,"  protested  Peter. 

They  were  interrupted  by  the  hasty  approach  of 
Vega's  chief  advisers  and  nearest  friends,  General 
Pulido  and  Colonel  Ramon. 


The  White  Mice 

"Pino  seems  in  a  hurry,"  said  Roddy.  "I  had 
no  idea  he  was  so  bloodthirsty." 

"Colonel  Vega,"  began  Pulido  abruptly,  "has 
just  informed  us  of  the  unfortunate  incident.  We 
have  come  to  tell  you  that  no  duel  can  take  place. 
It  is  monstrous.  The  life  of  Colonel  Vega  does  not 
belong  to  him,  it  belongs  to  the  Cause.  We  will 
not  permit  him  to  risk  it  needlessly.  You,  of  all 
people,  should  see  that.  You  must  apologize." 

The  demand,  and  the  peremptory  tone  in  which 
it  was  delivered,  caused  the  fighting  blood  of  Rod 
dy's  Irish  grandfathers  to  bubble  in  his  veins. 

"'Must'  and  'apologize!'"  protested  Roddy,  in 
icy  tones;  "Those  are  difficult  words,  gentlemen." 

"Consider,"  cried  Pulido,  "what  great  events 
hang  upon  the  life  of  Colonel  Vega." 

"My  own  life  is  extremely  interesting  to  me," 
said  Roddy.  "But  I  have  done  nothing  which 
needs  apology." 

Colonel  Ramon  now  interrupted  anxiously. 

"You  risked  your  life  for  Pino.  Why  now  do 
you  wish  to  take  it  ?  Think  of  his  importance  to 
Venezuela,  of  the  happiness  he  will  bring  his 
country,  and  think  what  his  loss  would  mean  to 
your  own  father." 

"My  father!"  exclaimed  Roddy.  "What  has 
my  father  to  do  with  this  ?" 

1 60 


The  White  Mice 

The  two  Venezuelans  looked  at  each  other  in 
bewilderment,  and  then  back  at  Roddy  sternly  and 
suspiciously. 

"Are  you  jesting?"  demanded  General  Pulido. 

"Never  been  more  serious  in  my  life,"  said 
Roddy. 

The  two  officers  searched  his  face  eagerly. 

"It  is  as  Pino  says,"  exclaimed  Pulido,  with 
sudden  enlightenment.  "He  is  telling  the  truth!" 

"Of  course  I'm  telling  the  truth!"  cried  Roddy 
fiercely.  "Are  you  looking  for  a  duel,  too  ?" 

"Tell  him!  "cried  Pulido. 

"But  Mr.  Forrester's  orders!"  protested  Colo 
nel  Ramon. 

"  He  is  more  dangerous,"  declared  Pulido, "  know 
ing  nothing,  than  he  would  be  if  he  understood." 

He  cast  a  rapid  glance  about  him.  With  a 
scowl,  his  eyes  finally  rested  upon  Peter. 

"I'll  be  within  knockout  distance  if  you  want 
me,"  said  that  young  man  to  Roddy,  and  moved 
to  the  rail  opposite. 

When  he  had  gone,  Pulido  bent  eagerly  forward^ 

"Do  you  not  know,"  he  demanded,  "what  it  is 
your  father  is  doing  in  our  country  ?" 

Roddy  burst  forth  impatiently,  "No!"  he  pro 
tested.  "And  I  seem  to  be  the  only  man  in  the 
country  who  doesn't." 

161 


The  White  Mice 

The  two  officers  crowded  close  to  him.  In 
sepulchral  tones,  Pulido  exclaimed  dramatically. 
He  spoke  as  though  he  were  initiating  Roddy  into 
a  secret  order. 

"Then  understand,"  he  whispered,  "that  your 
father  supports  Pino  Vega  with  five  million  boli 
vars;  that  Vega,  whose  life  you  are  seeking,  is 
the  man  your  father  means  to  make  President  of 
Venezuela.  Now  do  you  understand  ?" 

For  a  long  time  Roddy  remained  silent.  Then 
he  exclaimed  in  tones  of  extreme  exasperation: 

"I  understand,"  he  said,  "that,  if  my  father  had 
given  me  his  telephone  number,  he  would  have 
saved  me  a  lot  of  trouble.  No  wonder  everybody 
suspects  me." 

"And  now,"  declared  Pulido  anxiously,  "you 
are  one  of  us  !" 

"I  am  nothing  of  the  sort,"  snapped  Roddy. 
"  If  my  father  does  not  wish  to  tell  me  his  plans  I 
can't  take  advantage  of  what  I  learn  of  them  from 
strangers.  I  shall  go  on,"  he  continued  with  sus 
picious  meekness,  "with  the  work  Father  has  sent 
me  here  to  do.  Who  am  I,  that  I  should  push 
myself  into  the  politics  of  your  great  country?" 

"And  the  duel  ?"  demanded  Pulido. 

"I  am  sure,"  hastily  interjected  Colonel  Ramon, 
"if  Colonel  Vega  withdraws  his  offensive  remark 

162 


The  White  Mice 

about  President  Alvarez,  Mr.  Forrester  will  with 
draw  his  blow." 

Roddy  failed  to  see  how  a  blow  that  had  left  a 
raw  spot  on  the  chin  of  Pino  Vega  could  by  mutual 
agreement  be  made  to  vanish.  But  if  to  the  minds 
of  the  Spanish- Americans  such  a  miracle  were  pos 
sible,  it  seemed  ungracious  not  to  consent  to  it. 

"If  I  understand  you,"  asked  Roddy,  "Colonel 
Vega  withdraws  his  offensive  remark?" 

The  seconds  of  Pino  Vega  nodded  vigorously. 

"Then,"  continued  Roddy,  "as  there  was  no 
offensive  remark,  there  could  have  been  no  blow, 
and  there  can  be  no  duel." 

Roddy's  summing  up  delighted  the  Venezuelans, 
and  declaring  that  the  honor  of  all  was  satisfied, 
they  bowed  themselves  away. 

Next  morning  at  daybreak  the  fortress  of  San 
Carlos  rose  upon  the  horizon,  and  by  ten  o'clock 
Roddy  was  again  at  work,  threatening  a  gang  of 
Jamaica  coolies.  But  no  longer  he  swore  at  them 
with  his  former  wholeheartedness.  His  mind  was 
occupied  with  other  things.  Now,  between  him 
and  his  work,  came  thoughts  of  the  tunnel  that  for 
half  a  century  had  lain  hidden  from  the  sight  of 
man;  and  of  Inez,  elusive,  beautiful,  distracting, 
now  galloping  recklessly  toward  him  down  a  sunlit 
road,  now  a  motionless  statue  standing  on  a  white 

163 


The  White  Mice 

cliff,  with  the  waves  of  the  Caribbean  bending  and 
bowing  before  her. 

With  the  return  of  the  exiles  to  Porto  Cabello, 
that  picturesque  seaport  became  a  place  of  gay 
reunions,  of  banquets,  of  welcome  and  rejoicing. 
The  cafes  again  sprang  to  life.  The  Alameda  was 
crowded  with  loitering  figures  and  smart  carriages, 
whilst  the  vigilance  and  activity  of  the  government 
secret  police  increased.  Roddy  found  himself  an 
object  of  universal  interest.  As  the  son  of  his 
father,  and  as  one  who  had  prevented  the  assassina 
tion  of  Pino  Vega,  the  members  of  the  government 
party  suspected  him.  While  the  fact  that  in  de 
fense  of  Alvarez  he  had  quarrelled  with  Vega 
puzzled  them  greatly. 

"  If  I  can't  persuade  them  I  am  with  the  govern 
ment,"  said  Roddy,  "I  can  at  least  keep  them 
guessing." 

A  week  passed  before  Peter  and  Roddy  were 
able,  without  arousing  suspicion,  and  without  being 
followed,  to  visit  El  Morro.  They  approached  it 
apparently  by  accident,  at  the  end  of  a  long  walk 
through  the  suburbs,  and  so  timed  their  progress 
that,  just  as  the  sun  set,  they  reached  the  base  of 
the  hill  on  which  the  fortress  stood.  They  found 
that  on  one  side  the  hill  sloped  gently  toward  the 
city,  and  on  the  other  toward  the  sea.  The  face 

164 


The  White  Mice 

toward  the  city,  except  for  some  venturesome  goats 
grazing  on  its  scant  herbage,  was  bare  and  de 
serted.  The  side  that  sloped  to  the  sea  was  closely 
overgrown  with  hardy  mesquite  bushes  and  wild 
laurel,  which  would  effectually  conceal  any  one 
approaching  from  that  direction.  What  had  been 
the  fortress  was  now  only  a  broken  wall,  a  few  feet 
in  height.  It  was  covered  with  moss,  and  hidden  by 
naked  bushes  with  bristling  thorns.  Inside  the  cir 
cumference  of  the  wall  was  a  broken  pavement  of 
flat  stones.  Between  these,  trailing  vines  had  forced 
their  way,  their  roots  creeping  like  snakes  over  the 
stones  and  through  their  interstices,  while  giant,  ill- 
smelling  weeds  had  turned  the  once  open  court-yard 
into  a  maze.  These  weeds  were  sufficiently  high 
to  conceal  any  one  who  did  not  walk  upright,  and 
while  Peter  kept  watch  outside  the  walled  ring, 
Roddy,  on  his  hands  and  knees,  forced  his  way 
painfully  from  stone  to  stone.  After  a  quarter  of 
an  hour  of  this  slow  progress  he  came  upon  what 
once  had  been  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel.  It  was  an 
opening  in  the  pavement  corresponding  to  a  trap 
in  a  roof,  or  to  a  hatch  in  the  deck  of  a  ship.  The 
combings  were  of  stone,  and  were  still  intact,  as 
were  also  the  upper  stones  of  a  flight  of  steps  that 
led  down  to  the  tunnel.  But  below  the  level  of  the 
upper  steps,  blocking  further  descent,  were  two 

165 


The  White  Mice 

great  slabs  of  stone.  They  were  buried  deep  in  a 
bed  of  cement,  and  riveted  together  and  to  the 
walls  of  the  tunnel  by  bands  of  iron.  Roddy 
signalled  for  Peter  to  join  him,  and  in  dismay  they 
gazed  at  the  formidable  mass  of  rusty  iron,  cement 
and  stone. 

"  We  might  as  well  try  to  break  into  the  Rock  of 
Gibraltar!"  gasped  Peter. 

"  Don't  think  of  the  difficulties,"  begged  Roddy. 
"  Think  that  on  the  other  side  of  that  barrier  an  old 
man  is  slowly  dying.  I  admit  it's  going  to  be  a 
tough  job.  It  will  take  months.  But  whatever 
a  man  has  put  together,  a  man  can  pull  to  pieces." 

"  I  also  try  to  see  the  bright  side  of  life,"  returned 
Peter  coldly,  "  but  I  can't  resist  pointing  out  that 
the  other  end  of  your  tunnel  opens  into  a  prison. 
Breaking  into  a  bank  I  can  understand,  but  break 
ing  into  a  prison  seems  almost  like  looking  for 
trouble." 

The  dinner  that  followed  under  the  stars  in  their 
own  court-yard  did  much  to  dispel  Peter's  misgiv 
ings,  and  by  midnight,  so  assured  was  he  of  their 
final  success,  that  he  declared  it  now  was  time  that 
General  Rojas  should  share  in  their  confidence. 

"To  a  man  placed  as  he  is,"  he  argued,  "hope 
is  everything;  hope  is  health,  life.  He  must  know 
that  his  message  has  reached  the  outside.  He 

166 


The  White  Mice 

must  feel  that  some  one  is  working  toward  him. 
He  is  the  entombed  miner,  and,  to  keep  heart  in 
him,  we  must  let  him  hear  the  picks  of  the  rescuing 
party." 

"Fine!"  cried  Roddy,  "I  am  for  that,  too.  I'll 
get  my  friend  Vicenti,  the  prison  doctor,  to  show 
you  over  the  fortress  to-morrow.  And  we'll  try  to 
think  of  some  way  to  give  Rojas  warning." 

They  at  once  departed  for  the  cafe  of  the  Dos 
Hermanos,  where  the  gay  youth  of  Porto  Cabello 
were  wont  to  congregate,  and  where  they  found 
the  doctor.  During  the  evening  he  had  been  lucky 
at  baccarat,  and  had  been  investing  his  winnings  in 
sweet  champagne.  He  was  in  a  genial  mood.  He 
would  be  delighted  to  escort  the  friend  of  Senor 
Roddy  over  the  fortress,  or  to  any  other  of  the 
historical  places  of  interest  for  which  Porto  Cabello 
was  celebrated. 

"Where  Alvarez  punishes  traitors,"  exclaimed 
Roddy  in  a  loud  tone,  "is  what  we  most  desire  to 
see.  And,"  he  added,  scowling  darkly  through  the 
smoke-laden  cafe,  "  if  we  could  see  others  who  are 
still  at  liberty  in  the  same  place  we  would  be  better 
pleased." 

The  remark,  although  directed  at  no  one  in  par 
ticular,  caused  a  sensation,  and  led  several  of 
those  who  had  been  for  two  years  in  exile  to 

167 


The  White  Mice 

hurriedly  finish  their  chocolate  ices  and  seek  their 
homes. 

After  making  an  appointment  for  the  morrow 
with  Doctor  Vicenti,  and  when  they  were  safe  in 
their  own  patio,  Peter  protested  mildly. 

"Your  devotion  to  Alvarez,"  he  said,  "is  too 
sudden.  You  overdo  it.  Besides,  it's  making  an 
expert  liar  of  you.  Don't  get  the  habit." 

"As  the  son  of  the  man  who  is  trying  to  destroy 
Alvarez,"  declared  Roddy,  "my  position  is  ex 
tremely  delicate.  And  next  week  it  will  be  more 
^o.  McKildrick  got  a  cable  to-day  saying  that 
Sam  Caldwell  is  arriving  here  by  the  next  boat. 
His  starting  for  Porto  Cabello  the  very  moment 
Vega  arrives  here  means  trouble  for  Alvarez,  and 
that  the  trouble  is  coming  soon.  For,  wherever 
you  find  Sam  Caldwell,  there  you  will  find  plotting, 
bribery,  and  all  uncleanliness.  And  if  I'm  to  help 
Rojas  out  of  prison  I  must  have  nothing  to  do  with 
Sam.  Alvarez  recognizes  no  neutrals.  The  man 
who  is  not  with  him  is  against  him.  So  I  must  be 
the  friend  of  Alvarez  and  of  his  creatures.  For 
public  occasions,  my  hand  must  be  against  the 
F.  C.  C.,  against  Vega,  and  especially  against  Sam 
Caldwell,  because  everybody  knows  he  is  the  per 
sonal  agent  of  my  father.  Vega's  friends  know 
that  my  father  treats  me  as  though  he  could  not 

168 


The  White  Mice 

trust  me.  The  Alvarez  crowd  must  know  that, 
too.  Even  as  it  is,  they  think  my  being  down  here 
is  a  sort  of  punishment.  None  of  them  has  ever 
worked  in  his  life,  and  the  idea  of  a  rich  man's  son 
sweating  at  a  donkey-engine  with  a  gang  of  Conch 
niggers,  means  to  them  only  that  my  father  and  I 
have  quarrelled.  It  will  be  my  object  hereafter  to 
persuade  them  that  that  is  so.  If  I  have  to  act  a 
bit,  or  lie  a  bit,  what  are  a  few  lies  against  the  free 
dom  of  such  a  man  as  Rojas  ?  So,  to-morrow,  if 
you  should  be  so  lucky  as  to  see  Rojas,  don't  be  a 
bit  surprised  if  I  should  insult  that  unhappy 
gentleman  grossly.  If  I  do,  within  an  hour  the 
fact  will  be  all  over  the  cafes  and  the  plazas,  and 
with  Alvarez  it  would  be  counted  to  me  for  right 
eousness.  Much  that  I  may  have  to  do  of  the 
same  sort  will  make  the  gentlemen  of  Vega's  party 
consider  me  an  ungrateful  son,  and  very  much  of 
a  blackguard.  They  may,  in  their  turn,  insult  me, 
and  want  to  fight  more  duels.  But  it's  all  in  the 
game.  To  save  that  old  man  is  my  only  object  for 
living,  my  only  interest.  I  don't  care  how  many 
revolutions  I  tread  on.  I  would  sacrifice  every 
body  and  everything — for  him." 

After  his  long  speech,  Roddy  drew  a  deep  breath 
and  glared  at  Peter  as  though  inviting  contradic 
tion.  But,  instead  of  contradicting  him,  Peter 

169 


The  White  Mice 

smiled  skeptically  and  moved  to  his  bedroorrij 
which  opened  upon  the  court-yard.  At  the  door 
he  turned. 

"And  the  woman/  he  quoted,  'was  very  fair." 

The  next  morning  the  two  Americans  met  Doctor 
Vicenti  in  the  guard-room  of  the  fortress,  and  under 
his  escort  began  a  leisurely  inspection  of  the  prison. 
They  themselves  saw  to  it  that  it  was  leisurely,  and 
by  every  device  prolonged  it.  That  their  interest 
in  the  one  prisoner  they  had  come  to  see  might  not 
be  suspected,  they  pretended  a  great  curiosity  in 
the  doctor's  patients  and  in  all  the  other  prisoners. 
After  each  visit  to  a  cell  they  would  invite  Vicenti 
to  give  them  the  history  of  its  inmate.  They  as 
sured  him  these  little  biographies,  as  he  related 
them,  were  of  surpassing  brilliancy  and  pathos. 
In  consequence,  Vicenti  was  so  greatly  flattered 
that,  before  they  reached  the  cell  of  General  Rojas, 
each  succeeding  narrative  had  steadily  increased 
in  length,  and  the  young  doctor  had  become  com 
municative  and  loquacious. 

When  at  last  they  had  descended  to  the  lowest 
tier  of  cells,  Vicenti  paused  and  pointed  toward  an 
iron-barred  double  door. 

"In  there,"  he  whispered  to  Peter,  "is  our  most 
distinguished  political  prisoner,  General  Rojas. 
There  is  no  one  Alvarez  would  so  willingly  <ee 

170 


The  White  Mice 

dead.  And,  if  he  keeps  him  here  a  month  longer, 
Alvarez  will  have  his  wish." 

"But  they  say  the  man  is  a  traitor,"  protested 
Roddy. 

The  doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"  In  my  country,"  he  answered,  "every  man  who 
is  not  for  the  government  is  a  traitor." 

He  directed  the  turnkey  who  accompanied  them 
to  unlock  the  gate  of  the  cell,  and  with  a  gesture 
invited  the  Americans  to  enter.  As  they  did  so, 
each  dropped  his  right  hand  into  his  outside  co'at 
pocket.  When  it  came  forth  again,  concealed 
under  each  little  finger  was  a  tiny  roll  of  rice-paper 
torn  from  a  book  of  cigarette-wrappers.  On  each, 
in  pencil,  was  written,  "54-4"  and  the  word 
"Hope."  The  night  previous  Peter  and  Roddy 
had  prepared  the  papers,  on  the  chance  that  while 
one  of  them  occupied  the  attention  of  the  guide, 
the  other  could  slip  his  message  to  Rojas.  Roddy 
had  insisted  upon  the  use  of  rice-paper,  because 
it  could  be  swallowed  without  indigestion,  and 
instead  of  the  word  "Hope,"  had  preferred  a  free 
hand  drawing  of  an  anchor,  arguing  that  the  anchor 
was  the  emblem  of  hope,  and  was  more  picturesque 
than  the  written  word.  To  this  Peter  had  objected 
that  while  they  knew  an  anchor  signified  hope, 
Rojas  might  not,  and  as  they  were  risking  their 

171 


The  White  Mice 

lives  to  get  a  message  to  him,  it  was  important  he 
should  understand  it.  They  compromised  on  the 
numerals,  which  would  show  Rojas  his  own  cipher 
messages  had  been  received  and  understood,  and 
the  word  "Hope"  was  added  to  put  heart  into  him 
and  strengthen  his  desire  to  cling  to  life. 

But  on  entering  the  cell  they  saw  at  once  that 
there  would  be  no  chance  to  deliver  their  message. 
General  Rojas  was  seated  at  a  table  some  ten  feet 
from  them,  and  the  turnkey,  who  had  submitted 
with  ill  grace  to  the  Americans  entering  any  of  the 
cells,  and  who  seemed  especially  to  resent  their 
presence  in  this  one,  at  once  placed  himself 
aggressively  on  guard. 

As  he  did  so  he  commanded  sharply:  "The 
visitors  will  not  speak  to  the  prisoner." 

"That  is  understood,"  Vicenti  answered. 

The  Americans  saw  a  room  some  forty  by 
twenty  feet  in  size,  with  walls,  arched  ceiling  and 
floor  entirely  of  stone.  There  were  no  windows, 
but  it  was  well  lighted  by  candles,  and  the  lanterns 
carried  by  Vicenti  and  the  turnkey  threw  a  full 
light  into  each  corner.  They  saw  a  cot,  a  table, 
a  chair,  a  number  of  shelves  loaded  to  the  bending 
point  with  books  and,  at  one  end  of  the  cell,  an  im 
mense  archway.  This  archway  had  been  blocked 
with  stone,  roughly  hewn  and  held  together  by 

172 


The  White  Mice 

cement.  At  the  first  glance,  it  was  obvious  that 
this  was  the  other  entrance  to  the  tunnel.  As  he 
beheld  its  solid  front,  the  heart  of  each  of  the  young 
men  sank  in  dismay. 

General  Rojas  had  risen,  and  stood  shading  his 
eyes  from  the  unaccustomed  light  of  the  lanterns. 

"  I  have  taken  the  liberty  of  intruding  upon  you," 
Vicenti  was  saying,  "  because  these  two  gentlemen 
are  interested  in  the  history  of  the  fortress." 

General  Rojas  bowed  gravely,  and  with  a  dep 
recatory  gesture,  glanced  at  the  turnkey,  as  though 
to  explain  why  he  did  not  address  them. 

"This  part  of  the  fortress,"  Vicenti  began  hur 
riedly,  "is  very  old.  It  was  built  in  the  sixteenth 
century,  and  was,  I  think,  originally  the  messroom. 
It  is  now  used  only  for  the  most  important  political 
prisoners." 

For  an  instant  there  was  an  awkward  silence, 
and  then  Roddy  broke  it  with  a  laugh,  short  and 
contemptuous. 

"You  mean  traitors,"  he  sneered. 

General  Rojas  straightened  as  suddenly  as 
though  Roddy  had  struck  at  him.  The  young 
doctor  was  no  less  moved.  He  turned  on  the 
American  with  an  exclamation  of  indignation. 

"You  forget  yourself,  sir!"  he  said. 

Though   Peter  had   been  warned   that   Roddy 


The  White  Mice 

might  try  by  insulting  Rojas  to  make  capital  for 
himself,  his  insolence  to  a  helpless  old  man  was 
unpardonable.  He  felt  his  cheeks  burn  with 
mortification.  The  turnkey  alone  showed  his 
pleasure,  and  grinned  appreciatively.  Roddy  him 
self  was  entirely  unashamed. 

"I  have  no  sympathy  for  such  men!"  he  con 
tinued  defiantly.  "A  murderer  takes  only  human 
life;  a  traitor  would  take  the  life  of  his  country. 
In  the  States,"  he  cried  hotly,  "we  make  short  work 
with  traitors.  We  hang  them!" 

He  wheeled  furiously  on  Peter,  as  though  Peter 
had  contradicted  him. 

"  I  say  we  do,"  he  exclaimed.  "  It's  in  the  Con 
stitution.  It's  the  law.  You've  read  it  yourself. 
It's  page  fifty-four,  paragraph  four,  of  the  Con 
stitution  of  the  United  States.  'Punishment  for 
Traitors/  Page  fifty-four,  paragraph  four." 

Apparently  with  sudden  remorse  at  his  impetu 
osity,  he  turned  to  the  doctor. 

"I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  exclaimed.  "I  did 
forget  myself.  But  to  me,  men  like  that  are  in 
tolerable." 

Vicenti  was  not  to  be  mollified. 

"Then  you  had  better  avoid  their  presence," 
he  said  angrily. 

With  an  impatient  gesture  he  motioned  the  two 


The  White  Mice 

Americans  into  the  corridor,  and  in  distress  ap 
proached  the  prisoner. 

"I  apologize,  sir,"  he  said,  "for  having  sub- 
jected  you  to  such  an  incident." 

But  General  Rojas  made  no  answer.  To  his 
surprise,  Vicenti  found  that  the  old  man  was  suffer 
ing  from  the  scene  even  more  keenly  than  he  had 
feared.  Like  one  suddenly  bereft  of  strength, 
General  Rojas  had  sunk  into  his  chair.  His  blood 
less,  delicate  hands  trembled  upon  the  table. 
Great  tears  crept  down  his  white,  wrinkled  face. 
In  the  two  years  through  which  the  young  doctor 
had  watched  his  patient  he  had  never  before  seen 
in  his  eyes  the  strange,  mad  light  that  now  shone 
there.  To  the  medical  man,  it  meant  only  that 
the  end  was  nearer  than  he  had  supposed.  Shocked 
and  grieved,  the  doctor  made  a  movement  to  with 
draw. 

"I  am  deeply  sorry,"  he  murmured. 

General  Rojas  raised  his  head.  With  an  effort 
he  drew  over  his  face  its  customary,  deathlike 
mask. 

"It  is  nothing!"  he  exclaimed.  "What  is  one 
more  insult,  what  is  one  more  degradation,  when 
I  know  that  my  end  is  near!"  He  raised  his  voice; 
it  was  strangely  vigorous,  youthful,  jubilant;  it 
carried  through  the  open  bars  to  the  far  end  of  the 


The  White  Mice 

corridor.  "What  does  anything  matter,"  he  cried, 
"when  I  know — that  the  end  is  near!"  His  head 
sunk  upon  the  table.  To  hide  his  tears,  the  Gen 
eral  buried  his  face  in  his  hands. 

Outside,  in  the  darkness,  Peter  clutched  Roddy 
by  the  hand,  and  for  an  instant  crushed  it  in  his 
own. 

"Do  you  hear?"  he  whispered.  "He  is  an 
swering  you." 

"Yes,"  stammered  Roddy.  The  excitement  or 
the  dampness  of  the  prison  had  set  him  shivering, 
and  with  the  back  of  his  hand  he  wiped  the  cold 
moisture  from  his  forehead.  He  laughed  mirth 
lessly.  "Yes,"  he  answered,  "he  understood  me. 
And  now,  weVe  got  to  make  good!" 

That  afternoon  when  the  carriages  of  the 
aristocracy  of  Porto  Cabello  were  solemnly  circling 
the  Plaza,  Roddy  came  upon  McKildrick,  seated 
on  one  of  the  stone  benches,  observing  the  parade 
of  local  wealth  and  fashion  with  eyes  that  missed 
nothing  and  told  nothing.  McKildrick  was  a 
fine  type  of  the  self-taught  American.  He  pos 
sessed  a  thorough  knowledge  of  his  profession, 
executive  skill,  the  gift  of  handling  men,  and  the 
added  glory  of  having  "worked  his  way  up."  He 
was  tall,  lean,  thin-lipped,  between  thirty  and  forty 
years  of  age.  During  business  hours  he  spoke  only 

176 


The  White  Mice 

to  give  an  order  or  to  put  a  question.  Out  of 
working  hours,  in  his  manner  to  his  assistants  and 
workmen,  he  was  genially  democratic.  He  had, 
apparently,  a  dread  of  being  alone,  and  was  seldom 
seen  without  one  of  the  younger  engineers  at  his 
elbow.  With  them  he  was  considered  a  cynic,  the 
reason  given  for  his  cynicism  being  that  "the Chief" 
had  tried  to  "take  a  fall  out  of  matrimony,"  and  had 
come  out  of  it  a  woman-hater.  Officially  he  was 
Roddy's  superior,  but  it  never  was  possible  for  any 
one  in  the  pay  of  the  F.  C.  C.  to  forget  that  Roddy 
was  the  son  of  his  father.  Even  McKildrick,  in 
certain  ways,  acknowledged  it.  One  way  was, 
in  their  leisure  moments,  not  to  seek  out  Roddy, 
but  to  wait  for  the  younger  man  to  make  advances. 
On  this  occasion,  after  for  a  brief  moment  con 
templating  McKildrick  severely,  Roddy,  with  an 
impatient  exclamation,  as  though  dismissing  doubts 
and  misgivings,  sat  down  beside  him. 

"McKildrick,"  he  began  impetuously,  "I  want 
to  ask  you  an  impertinent  question.  It  concerns 
your  moral  character." 

McKildrick  grinned  appreciatively. 

"We  court  investigation,"  he  said. 

"Under  what  pressure  to  the  square  inch,"  de 
manded  Roddy,  "would  a  secret  confided  to  you 
be  liable  to  burst  its  boiler  ?" 

177 


The  White  Mice 

"I've  never,"  returned  the  engineer,  "had  an 
accident  of  that  kind." 

"Good!"  exclaimed  Roddy.  "Then  suppose  I 
said  to  you,  'McKildrick,  I  know  where  there's 
buried  treasure,  but  I  don't  know  how  to  get  it 
out.'  You  would  know.  Now,  if  I  led  you  to  the 
buried  treasure,  would  you,  as  an  expert  engineer, 
tell  me  how  to  dig  it  out,  and  then  could  you  forget 
you'd  given  that  advice  and  that  you'd  ever  heard 
of  the  treasure  ?" 

For  a  moment  McKildrick  considered  this 
hypothetical  case.  Then  he  asked:  "Which  bank 
are  you  thinking  of  opening?" 

Roddy  rose  abruptly. 

"I'll  show  you,"  he  exclaimed. 

That  Roddy  was  acting,  in  spite  of  secret  mis 
givings,  was  so  evident,  that  McKildrick  good- 
naturedly  demurred. 

"Better  not  tell  me  anything,"  he  protested, 
"that  you'll  be  sorry  for  when  you're  sober." 

Roddy  shook  his  head,  and,  not  until  they  had 
left  the  suburbs  and  the  last  fisherman's  hut  behind 
them  and  were  on  the  open  coast,  did  he  again  refer 
to  the  subject  of  their  walk.  Then  he  exclaimed 
suddenly:  "And  I  forgot  to  mention  that  if 
Father  finds  out  you  advised  me  you  will  probably 
lose  your  job." 

178 


The  White  Mice 

McKildrick  halted  in  his  tracks. 

"It's  a  pity,"  he  agreed,  "that  you  forgot  to 
mention  that.  As  a  rule,  when  I  give  expert  ad 
vice  I  get  a  fat  check  for  it." 

"And  what's  more,"  continued  Roddy,  "if 
Alvarez  finds  it  out  you'll  go  to  jail." 

"  Your  piquant  narrative  interests  me  strangely," 
said  McKildrick.  "What  else  happens  to  me  ?" 

"  But,  of  course,"  explained  Roddy  reassuringly, 
"you'll  tell  them  you  didn't  know  what  you  were 
doing." 

"  How  about  your  telling  me  what  we  are  doing  ?" 
suggested  the  engineer. 

."From  this  point,"  was  Roddy's  only  reply, 
"you  crawl  on  your  hands  and  knees,  or  some  one 
may  see  you." 

The  engineer  bent  his  tall  figure  and,  follow 
ing  in  Roddy's  trail,  disappeared  into  the  laurel 
bushes. 

"Why  shouldn't  they  see  me  ?"  he  called. 

"One  looks  so  silly  on  his  hands  and  knees," 
Roddy  suggested. 

For  ten  minutes,  except  for  the  rustle  of  the 
bushes,  they  pushed  their  way  in  silence,  and  then 
Roddy  scrambled  over  the  fallen  wall  of  the  fort, 
and  pointed  down  at  the  entrance  to  the  tunnel. 

problem  is,"  he  said,  "to  remove  these 
179 


The  White  Mice 

slabs  from  that  staircase,  and  leave  it  in  such  shape 
that  no  one  who  is  foolish  enough  to  climb  up  here 
could  see  that  they  had  been  disturbed." 

"Do  you  really  think,"  demanded  McKildrick, 
smiling  sceptically,  "that  there  is  buried  treasure 
under  these  stones  ?" 

"Yes,"  answered  Roddy  anxiously,  "a  kind  of 
buried  treasure." 

Cautiously  McKildrick  raised  his  head,  and,  as 
though  to  establish  his  bearings,  surveyed  the  land 
scape.  To  the  north  he  saw  the  city;  to  the  east, 
a  quarter  of  a  mile  away,  the  fortress,  separated 
from  the  mainland  by  a  stretch  of  water;  and  to 
the  south,  the  wild  mesquite  bushes  and  laurel 
through  which  they  had  just  come,  stretching  to 
the  coast. 

"Is  this  a  serious  proposition  ?"  he  asked. 

"It's  a  matter  of  life  and  death,"  Roddy  an 
swered. 

McKildrick  seated  himself  on  the  flight  of  stone 
steps,  and  for  some  time,  in  silence,  studied  them 
critically.  He  drove  the  heel  of  his  boot  against 
the  cement,  and,  with  his  eyes,  tested  the  resistance 
of  the  rusty  bars  of  iron. 

"With  a  couple  of  men  and  crowbars,  and  a 
pinch  of  dynamite  that  wouldn't  make  a  noise," 
he  said  at  last,  "I  could  open  that  in  an  hour." 

180 


The  White  Mice 

"Could  you  put  it  back  again?"  asked  Roddy. 

There  was  a  long  pause. 

"I  guess,"  said  McKildrick,  "you'll  have  to  let 
me  in  on  the  ground  floor." 

The  sun  had  set  and  the  air  had  turned  cold  and 
damp.  Roddy  seated  himself  beside  his  chief  and 
pointed  at  the  great  slabs  at  their  feet.  His  voice 
dropped  to  a  whisper. 

"It's  like  this,"  he  began. 

When,  two  hours  later,  they  separated  at  the 
outskirts  of  the  city,  McKildrick  had  been  initiated 
into  the  Brotherhood  of  the  White  Mice. 

They  had  separated,  agreeing  that  in  the  future 
the  less  they  were  seen  together  the  better.  But,  in 
wishing  to  be  alone,  Roddy  had  another  and  more 
sentimental  reason. 

Each  evening  since  his  return  from  Curacao  he 
had  made  a  pilgrimage  to  the  deserted  home  of  the 
Rojas  family,  and,  as  the  garden  of  Miramar  ran 
down  to  meet  the  shore  of  the  harbor,  as  did  the 
garden  of  his  own  house,  he  was  able  to  make  the 
nocturnal  visits  by  rowboat,  and  without  being 
observed.  Sometimes  he  was  satisfied  simply  to 
lie  on  his  oars  opposite  the  empty  mansion,  and 
think  of  the  young  girl  who,  so  soon,  was  to  waken 
it  to  life;  and  again  he  tied  his  boat  to  a  public 
wharf  a  hundred  yards  down  the  shore,  and  with 

181 


The  White  Mice 

the  aid  of  the  hanging  vines  pulled  himself  to  the 
top  of  the  seawall,  and  dropped  into  the  garden. 
To  a  young  man  very  much  interested  in  a  young 
woman,  of  whom  he  knew  so  little  that  it  was 
possible  to  endow  her  with  every  grace  of  mind  and 
character,  and  whose  personal  charm  was  never 
to  be  forgotten,  these  melancholy  visits  afforded 
much  satisfaction.  Even  to  pass  the  house  was 
a  pleasing  exercise;  and,  separating  from  McKil- 
drick,  he  turned  his  steps  to  the  Alameda,  the  broad 
avenue  shaded  by  a  double  line  of  trees  that  fol 
lowed  the  curve  of  the  harbor,  and  upon  which  the 
gates  of  Miramar  opened.  As  he  approached  the 
house  he  saw,  with  surprise  and  pleasure,  that  in 
the  future  his  midnight  prowlings  were  at  an  end. 
Miramar  was  occupied.  Every  window  blazed 
with  light.  In  this  light  servants  were  moving 
hurriedly,  and  in  front  of  the  gates  the  Alameda 
was  blocked  with  carts  loaded  with  trunks  and 
boxes. 

Excited  by  the  sight,  Roddy  hid  himself  in  the 
shadows  of  the  trees,  and,  unobserved,  stood  im 
patiently  waiting  for  a  chance  to  learn  if  the  exiles 
had  indeed  returned  to  their  own.  He  had  not  long 
to  wait.  In  a  little  figure  bustling  among  the  carts, 
and  giving  many  orders,  he  recognized  his  friend 
and  ally,  Pedro.  Roddy  instantly  stepped  into 

182 


The  White  Mice 

the  glare  of  the  electric  globes  until  he  was  sure 
Pedro  had  seen  him,  and  then  again  retreated  into 
the  shadow.  In  a  moment  the  old  servant  was  at 
his  side. 

"Is  she  here  ?"  demanded  Roddy. 

Appreciating  that  in  the  world  there  could  be 
only  one  "she,"  the  little  man  nodded  violently. 

"Tell  her,"  whispered  Roddy,  "I  have  seen  her 
father,  that  he  knows  what  we  are  trying  to  do.  I 
must  talk  with  the  senorita  at  once.  Ask  her  if 
she  will  come  to  the  steps  leading  from  the  gardens 
to  the  wharf  at  any  hour  this  evening.  From 
my  own  house  I  can  row  there  without  being 


seen." 


Again  Pedro  nodded  happily. 

"I  will  ask  the  senorita  to  be  there  at  nine 
o'clock,"  he  answered,  "or,  I  will  come  myself." 

The  alternative  did  not  strongly  appeal  to 
Roddy,  but  the  mere  fact  that  Inez  was  now  in 
the  same  city  with  him,  that  even  at  that  moment 
she  was  not  a  hundred  yards  from  him,  was  in 
itself  a  reward. 

He  continued  on  down  the  Alameda,  his  head  in 
the  air,  his  feet  treading  on  springs. 

"  Three  hours ! "  his  mind  protested.  "  How  can 
I  wait  three  hours  ?" 

In  some  fashion  the  hours  passed,  and  at  nine, 


The  White  Mice 

just  as  over  all  the  city  the  bugles  were  recalling 
the  soldiers  to  the  barracks,  Roddy  was  waiting 
on  the  narrow  stretch  of  beach  that  ran  between 
the  harbor  and  the  gardens  of  Miramar. 


184 


VI 


AT  the  last  moment  Roddy  had  decided  against 
taking  the  water  route,  and,  leaving  his  row- 
boat  at  his  own  wharf,  had,  on  foot,  skirted  the 
edge  of  the  harbor.  It  was  high  tide,  and  the 
narrow  strip  of  shore  front  on  which  he  now  stood, 
and  which  ran  between  the  garden  and  the  Rojas* 
private  wharf,  was  only  a  few  feet  in  width. 
Overhead  the  moon  was  shining  brilliantly,  but 
a  procession  of  black  clouds  caused  the  stone  steps 
and  the  tiny  summer-house  at  the  end  of  the  wharf 
to  appear  and  disappear  like  slides  in  a  magic 
lantern. 

In  one  of  the  moments  of  light  the  figures  of  a 
man  and  a  woman  loomed  suddenly  in  the  gateway 
of  the  garden.  Pedro  came  anxiously  forward, 
and  Roddy  leaped  past  him  up  the  steps.  He 
recognized  Inez  with  difficulty.  In  the  fashion  of 
the  peasant  women  she  had  drawn  around  her 
head  and  face  a  fringed,  silk  shawl,  which  left  only 
her  eyes  visible,  and  which  hung  from  her  shoulders 
in  lines  that  hid  her  figure.  Roddy  eagerly 
stretched  out  his  hand,  but  the  girl  raised  her  own 

185 


The  White  Mice 

in  warning  and,  motioning  him  to  follow,  passed 
quickly  from  the  steps  to  the  wharf.  At  its  farther 
end  was  a  shelter  of  thatched  palm  leaves.  The 
sides  were  open,  and  half  of  the  wharf  was  filled 
with  moonlight,  but  over  the  other  half  the  roof 
cast  a  black  shadow,  and  into  this  Inez  passed 
quickly.  Roddy  as  quickly  followed.  His  heart 
was  leaping  in  a  delightful  tumult.  His  love  of 
adventure,  of  the  picturesque,  was  deeply  gratified. 
As  he  saw  it,  the  scene  was  set  for  romance;  he 
was  once  more  in  the  presence  of  the  girl  who, 
though  he  had  but  twice  met  her,  and,  in  spite  of  the 
fact  that  she  had  promised  herself  to  another  man, 
attracted  him  more  strongly  than  had  any  woman 
he  had  ever  known.  And  the  tiny  wharf,  the 
lapping  of  the  waves  against  the  stone  sides,  the 
moonlight,  the  purpose  of  their  meeting,  all  seemed 
combined  for  sentiment,  for  a  display  of  the  more 
tender  emotions. 

But  he  was  quickly  disillusionized.  The  voice 
that  issued  from  the  shadows  was  brisk  and  in 
cisive. 

"You  know,"  Inez  began  abruptly,  in  sharp  dis 
approbation,  "this  won't  do  at  all!" 

Had  she  pushed  him  into  the  cold  waters  of  the 
harbor  and  left  him  to  the  colder  charity  of  the 
harbor  sharks,  Roddy  could  not  have  been  more 

186 


The  White  Mice 

completely  surprised.  He  stared  at  the  cloaked 
figure  blankly. 

"I  beg  your  pardon!"  he  stammered. 

"  You  must  not  expect  me  to  meet  you  like  this/' 
protested  the  girl;  "it  is  impossible.  You  risk 
everything." 

Bewildered  by  the  nature  and  the  unexpected 
ness  of  the  attack,  Roddy  murmured  incoherently: 

"I'm  so  sorry,"  he  stammered.  "I  thought  you 
would  wish  to  know." 

"What  else  is  there  I  could  so  much  wish!"  pro 
tested  the  girl  with  spirit.  "  But  not  in  this  way." 

Roddy  hung  his  head  humbly. 

"I  see,"  he  murmured.  "I  forgot  etiquette.  I 
should  have  considered  you." 

"I  was  not  thinking  of  myself!"  exclaimed  the 
girl.  "A  week  ago  I  was  frightened.  Tradition, 
training,  was  strong  with  me,  and  I  did  think  too 
much  of  how  my  meeting  you  would  appear  to 
others.  But  now  I  see  it  as  you  see  it.  I'll  risk 
their  displeasure,  gossip,  scandal,  all  of  that,  if  I 
can  only  help  my  father.  But  this  will  not  help 
him.  This  will  lead  to  discovery.  You  must  not 
come  near  me,  nor  visit  this  house.  My  mother" 
— the  girl  hesitated — "it  is  hard  to  say,"  she  went 
on  quickly,  "but  my  mother  more  than  dislikes 
you — she  regards  you  as  our  evil  genius.  She 

187 


The  White  Mice 

thinks  you  are  doing  all  in  your  power  to  spoil  the 
plans  of  your  own  father  and  of  Vega.  She — we 
have  all  heard  of  your  striking  Vega  in  defense  of 
Alvarez.  Vega  is  the  one  man  she  thinks  can 
save  my  father.  She  believes  you  are  his  enemy. 
Therefore,  you  are  her  enemy.  And  she  has  been 
told,  also,  of  the  words  you  used  to  my  father 
when  your  friend  was  permitted  to  visit  him." 
With  an  effort  the  girl  tried  to  eliminate  from 
her  voice  the  note  of  obvious  impatience.  "Of 
course,"  she  added  quickly,  "the  story  came  to  us 
distorted.  I  could  not  see  your  object,  but  I  was 
sure  you  had  a  motive.  I  was  sure  it  was  well 
meant!" 

"Well  meant!"  exclaimed  Roddy,  but  inter 
rupted  himself  quickly.  "All  right,"  he  said, 
"go  on." 

The  girl  recognized  the  restraint  in  his  tone. 

"You  think  I  am  unjust,  ungrateful,"  she  pro 
tested  earnestly,  "but,  believe  me,  I  am  not.  I 
want  only  to  impress  upon  you  to  be  careful  and  to 
show  you  where  you  stand." 

"With  whom?"  asked  Roddy. 

"With  my  mother  and  Vega  and  with  their 
party." 

"I  am  more  interested,"  said  Roddy,  "in  know 
ing  how  I  stand  with  you." 

188 


The  White  Mice 

The  girl  answered  quietly:  "Oh,  we  are  friends. 
And  you  know  that  I  am  deeply  grateful  to  you 
because  /  know  what  you  are  trying  to  do,  the 
others  do  not." 

"Suppose  we  tell  them  ?"  said  Roddy. 

The  girl  gave  a  quick  exclamation  of  protest, 
and  Roddy  could  hear  rather  than  see  her  move 
from  him.  They  were  now  quite  alone.  Lest 
any  one  coming  from  the  house  should  discover 
Roddy,  Pedro  had  been  on  guard  at  the  gate. 
But  he  had  seen,  both  above  and  below  the  wharf, 
mysterious,  moonlit  figures  loitering  at  the  edge  of 
the  water,  and  in  order  to  investigate  them  he  left 
his  post.  There  was  a  moment  of  silence.  On 
three  sides  the  moonlight  turned  the  tiny  waves 
into  thousands  of  silver  mirrors,  and  from  farther 
up  the  curving  coast-line  the  fires  in  the  wicker- 
work  huts  of  the  fishermen  burned  red.  At  their 
feet  the  water  was  thick  with  the  phosphorescence, 
shining  more  brilliantly  than  the  moonlight.  And, 
as  schools  of  minnows  fled,  darting  and  doubling  on 
their  course  before  some  larger  fish  that  leaped  and 
splashed  in  pursuit,  the  black  depths  of  the  harbor 
were  lit  with  vivid  streaks,  and  the  drops  of  water 
cast  into  the  air  flashed  like  sparks  from  an  anvil. 

A  harbor  shark,  nosing  up  stealthily  to  the  wharf, 
thought  himself  invisible,  but  the  phosphorescence 

189 


The  White  Mice 

showed  his  great  length  and  cruel  head  as  clearly 
as  though  he  wore  a  suit  of  flame. 

"Suppose  you  tell  them  ?"  repeated  Roddy. 

The  girl  spoke  with  evident  reluctance. 

"I  cannot,"  she  said,  "and  the  reason  why  I 
•cannot  is  quite  foolish,  absurd.  But  their  minds 
are  full  of  it.  In  some  way  Vega  learned  of  our 
meeting.  He  believes  it  was  by  accident,  but, 
nevertheless,  he  also  believes — why  I  can't  imagine 
—that  you  are  interested  in  me." 

As  though  fearful  Roddy  would  speak,  she  con 
tinued  quickly.  She  spoke  in  impersonal,  matter- 
of-fact  tones  that  suggested  that  in  the  subject  at 
hand  she  herself  was  in  no  way  involved. 

"  My  mother  was  already  prejudiced  against  you 
because  she  thought  that,  for  the  sake  of  adventure, 
you  were  risking  the  life  of  my  father.  And  this 
last  suggestion  of  Vega's  has  added  to  her  preju 
dice." 

As  though  waiting  for  Roddy  to  make  some 
comment  or  ask  some  question,  the  girl  hesitated. 

"I  see,"  said  Roddy. 

"No,  I  am  afraid  you  cannot  see/'  said  Inez, 
"  unless  you  know  the  facts.  I  am  sorry  to  weary 
you  with  family  secrets,  but,  if  you  know  them,  my 
mother's  prejudice  is  more  easy  to  understand. 
Colonel  Vega  wishes  to  marry  me.  My  mother 

190 


The  White  Mice 

also  desires  it.     That  is  why  they  are  hostile  to 
you." 

The  young  girl  gave  an  exclamation  of  im 
patience. 

"It  is  ridiculous,"  she  protested,  "that  such  an 
absurd  complication  should  be  brought  into  a  mat 
ter  of  life  and  death.  But  there  it  is.  And  for 
that  reason  it  would  be  folly  to  tell  them  of  your 
purpose.  They  would  accept  nothing  from  your 
hands.  You  must  continue  to  work  alone,  and 
you  must  not  come  near  me  nor  try  to  speak  to 
me.  If  it  is  absolutely  necessary  to  communicate 
with  me,  write  what  you  have  to  tell  me;  or,  better 
still,  give  a  verbal  message  to  Pedro."  She  made 
an  abrupt  movement.  "I  must  go!"  she  ex 
claimed.  "I  told  them  I  would  walk  in  the  gar 
den,  and  they  may  follow." 

At  the  thought  she  gave  a  little  gasp  of  alarm. 

"Surely  it  is  not  as  serious  as  that?"  Roddy 
objected. 

"Quite,"  returned  the  girl.  "To  them,  what  I 
am  doing  now  is  unpardonable.  But  I  was  afraid 
to  write  you.  A  letter  may  sound  so  harsh,  it  can 
be  so  easily  misread.  I  did  not  wish  to  offend  you, 
so  I  risked  seeing  you  this  way — for  the  last  time.'* 

"For  the  last  time,"  repeated  Roddy. 

Inez  made  a  movement  to  go. 
191 


The  White  Mice 

"Wait!"  he  commanded.  "Do  you  come  often 
to  this  place?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  girl,  and  then,  answering  the 
possible  thought  back  of  the  question,  she  added: 
"My  mother  and  sister  come  here  with  me  every 
evening — for  the  sake  of  the  harbor  breeze — at 
least  we  used  to  do  so.  Why  ?"  she  demanded. 

In  her  voice  was  a  note  of  warning. 

"I  was  thinking,"  said  Roddy,  "I  could  row 
past  here  in  my  boat,  far  out,  where  no  one  could 
see  me.  But  I  could  see  you." 

Inez  gave  a  quick  sigh  of  exasperation. 

"You  will  not  understand!"  she  exclaimed. 
"Why,"  she  demanded,  "after  all  I  have  told  you, 
after  my  taking  this  risk  to  make  it  plain  to  you  that 
you  must  not  see  me,  do  you  still  persist  ?" 

"As  you  wish,"  answered  Roddy  quietly,  but  his 
tone  showed  that  his  purpose  to  see  her  was  un 
changed.  Inez  heard  him  laugh  happily.  He 
moved  suddenly  toward  her.  "  Why  do  I  persist  ?" 
he  asked.  His  voice,  sunken  to  a  whisper,  was 
eager,  mocking.  In  it  she  discerned  a  new  note. 
It  vibrated  with  feeling.  "Why  do  I  persist?" 
he  whispered.  "  Because  you  are  the  most  won 
derful  person  I  have  ever  met.  Because  if  I  did  not 
persist  I'd  despise  myself.  Since  I  last  saw  you  I 
have  thought  of  nothing  but  you,  I  have  been 

192 


The  White  Mice 

miserable  for  the  sight  of  you.  You  can  forbid 
me  seeing  you,  but  you  can't  take  away  from  me 
what  you  have  given  me — the  things  you  never 
knew  you  gave  me." 

The  girl  interrupted  him  sharply. 

"Mr.  Forrester!"  she  cried. 

Roddy  went  on,  as  though  she  had  not  spoken. 

"  I  had  to  tell  you,"  he  exclaimed.  "  Until  I  told 
you  I  couldn't  sleep.  It  has  been  in  my  head,  in 
my  heart,  every  moment  since  I  saw  you.  You 
had  to  know.  And  this  night!"  he  exclaimed.  As 
though  calling  upon  them  to  justify  him  he  flung 
out  his  arms  toward  the  magic  moonlight,  the 
flashing  waves,  the  great  fronds  of  the  palms 
rising  above  the  wall  of  the  garden.  "  You  have 
given  me,"  he  cried,  "the  most  beautiful  thing  that 
has  come  into  my  life,  and  on  a  night  like  this  I 
had  to  speak.  I  had  to  thank  you.  On  such  a 
night  as  this,"  Roddy  cried  breathlessly,  "Jessica 
stole  from  Shylock's  house  to  meet  her  lover.  On 
such  a  night  as  this  Leander  swam  the  Hellespont. 
And  on  this  night  I  had  to  tell  you  that  to  me  you 
are  the  most  wonderful  and  beautiful  woman  in  the 
world." 

How  Inez  Rojas,  bewildered,  indignant,  silent 
only  through  astonishment,  would  have  met  this 
attack,  Roddy  never  knew,  for  Pedro,  leaping  sud- 


The  White  Mice 

denly  from  the  shore,  gave  her  no  time  to  answer. 
Trembling  with  excitement,  the  Venezuelan  spoke 
rapidly. 

"You  must  go!"  he  commanded.  He  seized 
Roddy  by  the  arm  and  tried  to  drag  him  toward 
the  garden.  "The  police!  They  surround  the 
house/' 

With  his  free  hand  he  pointed  at  two  figures, 
each  carrying  a  lantern,  who  approached  rapidly 
along  the  shore  from  either  direction. 

"They  are  spying  upon  all  who  enter.  If  they 
find  you!"  In  an  agony  of  alarm  the  old  man 
tossed  up  his  hands. 

Under  his  breath  Roddy  cursed  himself  impo- 
tently  for  a  fool.  He  saw  that  again  he  would 
compromise  the  girl  he  had  just  told  he  held  in 
high  regard,  that  he  would  put  in  jeopardy  the 
cause  for  which  he  had  boasted  to  her  he  would 
give  his  life.  Furious,  and  considering  only  in 
what  way  he  could  protect  Inez,  he  stood  for  a 
moment  at  a  loss.  From  either  side  the  swinging 
lanterns  drew  nearer.  In  his  rear  his  retreat  was 
cut  off  by  the  harbor.  Only  the  dark  shadows  of 
Miramar  offered  a  refuge. 

"Quick!"  commanded  Inez.  "You  must  hide 
in  the  garden."  Her  voice  was  cold  with  dis 
pleasure.  "When  they  have  gone  Pedro  will  tell 

194 


The  White  Mice 

you  and  you  will  leave.  And,"  she  added,  "you 
will  see  that  you  do  not  return." 

The  words  sobered  Roddy.  They  left  him 
smarting,  and  they  left  him  quite  cool.  After  her 
speech  he  could  not  accept  the  hospitality  of  the 
garden.  And  his  hiding  there  might  even  further 
compromise  her.  He  saw  only  one  way  out;  to 
rush  the  nearest  policeman  and  in  the  uncertain 
light,  hope,  unrecognized,  to  escape.  But  even 
that  chance  left  the  police  free  to  explain,  in  their 
own  way,  why  the  Senorita  Rojas  was  in  the  com 
pany  of  a  man  who  fled  before  them. 

"Do  you  hear  ?"  whispered  Inez.  "Hide  your 
self!" 

With  a  cry  of  dismay  Pedro  forced  Roddy  into 
the  shadow. 

"It  is  too  late!"  he  exclaimed. 

Standing  in  the  gateway  of  the  garden,  clearly 
illuminated  by  the  moonlight,  stood  Senora  Rojas, 
with  her  arm  in  that  of  Pino  Vega. 

In  spite  of  himself,  Roddy  emitted  an  excited 
chuckle.  In  the  presence  of  such  odds  his  self- 
reproaches  fell  from  him.  He  felt  only  a  pleasing 
thrill  of  danger.  This  was  no  time  for  regrets  or 
upbraidings.  The  situation  demanded  of  him  only 
quick  action  and  that  he  should  keep  his  head. 
As  Roddy  now  saw  it,  he  was  again  the  base- 

195 


The  White  Mice 

runner,  beset  in  front  and  rear.  He  missed  only 
the  shouts  and  cheers  of  thousands  of  partisans. 
The  players  of  the  other  side  were  closing  in  and 
shortening  the  distance  in  which  he  could  turn  and 
run.  They  had  him  in  a  trap,  and,  in  another 
instant,  the  ball  would  touch  him.  It  was  quite 
time,  Roddy  decided,  to  "slide!"  Still  hidden  by 
the  shadow  of  the  thatched  roof,  he  dropped  at  the 
feet  of  Inez,  and,  before  she  could  understand  his 
purpose,  had  turned  quickly  on  his  face  and 
lowered  himself  into  the  harbor.  There  was  a 
faint  splash  and  a  shower  of  phosphorescence. 
Roddy's  fingers  still  clung  to  the  edge  of  the  wharf, 
and  Inez,  sinking  to  her  knees,  brought  her  face 
close  to  his. 

"  Come  back ! "  she  commanded.  "  Come  back  1 
You  will  drown !"  She  gave  a  sudden  gasp  of 
horror.  "The  sharks!"  she  whispered.  "You 
could  not  live  a  moment."  With  both  hands  she 
dragged  at  his  sleeve. 

Roddy  cast  a  quick  glance  at  the  moon.  A 
friendly  cloud  was  hastening  to  his  aid.  He  saw 
that  if,  for  a  moment  longer,  he  could  remain  con 
cealed,  he  would  under  cover  of  the  brief  eclipse, 
be  able  to  swim  to  safety.  He  drew  free  of  Inez, 
and,  treading  water,  fearful  even  to  breathe, 
watched  the  lanterns  of  the  police  halt  at  the  wharf. 

196 


The  White  Mice 

The  voice  of  Senora  Rojas  rose  in  anxious  in 
quiry. 

"Is  that  you,  Inez  ?"  she  called. 

There  was  no  reply.  Concerned  as  to  what 
struggle  of  conscience  might  not  be  going  on  in  the 
mind  of  the  girl,  Roddy  threw  his  arm  across  the 
edge  of  the  wharf  and  drew  his  shoulders  clear  of 
the  water.  In  the  shadow  Inez  was  still  kneeling, 
her  face  was  still  close  to  his. 

"Answer  her!"  commanded  Roddy.  "I'm  all 
right."  He  laughed  softly,  mockingly.  He  raised 
his  head  nearer.  "On  such  a  night,"'  he  whis 
pered,  "'Leander  swam  the  Hellespont.'  Why? 
Because  he  loved  her!" 

With  an  exclamation,  partly  of  exasperation, 
partly  of  relief  at  finding  the  man  did  not  consider 
himself  in  danger,  Inez  rose  to  her  feet  and  stepped 
into  the  moonlight. 

"Yes,  I  am  here,"  she  called.  "I  am  with 
Pedro." 

At  the  same  moment  the  black  cloud  swept 
across  the  moon,  and,  with  the  stealth  and  silence 
of  a  water  rat,  Roddy  slipped  from  the  wharf  and 
struck  out  toward  the  open  harbor. 

At  the  gate  the  two  policemen  raised  their  lan 
terns  and  swung  them  in  the  face  of  Senora 
Rojas. 

197 


The  White  Mice 

Vega  turned  upon  them  fiercely. 

"What  are  you  doing  here?"  he  demanded. 
"  Do  you  wish  to  know  who  I  am  ?  Well,  I  am 
Colonel  Vega.  Report  that  to  your  chief.  Go!" 

With  a  gesture  he  waved  the  men  to  one  side, 
and,  saluting  sulkily,  they  moved  away. 

When  they  had  gone  Senora  Rojas  sighed  with 
relief,  but  the  hand  that  rested  upon  the  arm  of 
Vega  trembled. 

"My  dear  lady!"  he  protested.  "When  I  am 
here  no  harm  can  come." 

Vega  hoped  that  Inez  had  heard  him.  He 
trusted,  also,  that  she  had  observed  the  manner  in 
which  he  had  addressed  the  police,  and  how,  awed 
by  his  authority,  they  had  slunk  away.  But  Inez 
had  not  observed  him. 

With  her  hands  pressed  against  her  breast,  her 
eyes  filled  with  fear,  she  was  watching  in  fascinated 
horror  a  thin  ripple  of  phosphorescence  that  moved 
leisurely  and  steadily  out  to  sea. 

In  the  patio  of  Roddy's  house  Peter  was  reclining 
in  a  steamer-chair.  At  his  elbow  was  a  long  drink, 
and  between  his  fingers  a  long  cigar.  Opposite 
him,  in  another  chair,  was  stretched  young  Vicenti. 
At  midnight,  on  his  way  home  from  visiting  a 
patient,  the  doctor,  seeing  a  light  in  the  court-yard 


On  such  a  night,  Leander  swam  the  Hellespont. 


The  White  Mice 

of  Roddy's  house,  had  clamored  for  admittance. 
To  Peter  the  visit  was  most  ill-timed.  Roddy  had 
now  been  absent  for  four  hours,  and  the  imagina 
tion  of  his  friend  was  greatly  disturbed.  He  knew 
for  what  purpose  Roddy  had  set  forth,  and  he 
pictured  him  pierced  with  a  bullet  as  he  climbed 
the  garden  wall,  or  a  prisoner  behind  the  bars  of 
the  cartel.  He  was  in  no  mood  to  entertain  visitors, 
but  the  servants  were  in  bed,  and  when  Vicenti 
knocked,  Peter  himself  had  opened  the  door.  On 
any  other  night  the  doctor  would  have  been  most 
welcome.  He  was  an  observing  young  man,  and 
his  residence  in  the  States  enabled  him  to  take 
the  point  of  view  of  Peter  and  Roddy,  and  his 
comments  upon  their  country  and  his  own  were 
amusing.  For  his  attack  upon  General  Rojas  he 
had  been  greatly  offended  with  Roddy,  but  the 
American  had  written  him  an  apology,  and  by  this 
late  and  informal  visit  Vicenti  intended  to  show 
that  they  were  again  friends. 

But,  for  Peter,  it  was  a  severe  test  of  self-control. 
Each  moment  his  fears  for  Roddy's  safety  in 
creased,  and  of  his  uneasiness,  in  the  presence  of 
the  visitor,  he  dared  give  no  sign.  It  was  with  a 
feding  of  genuine  delight  that  he  heard  from  the 
garden  a  mysterious  whistle. 

"Who's  there?"  he  challenged. 
199 


The  White  Mice 

"Is  anybody  with  you?"  The  voice  was 
strangely  feeble,  but  it  was  the  voice  of  Roddy. 

"Our  friend  Vicenti,"  Peter  cried,  warningly. 

At  the  same  moment,  Roddy,  clad  simply  in  his 
stockings,  and  dripping  with  water,  stood  swaying 
in  the  doorway. 

"For  Heaven's  sake!"  protested  Peter. 

Roddy  grinned  foolishly,  and  unclasping  his 
hands  from  the  sides  of  the  door,  made  an  unsteady 
start  toward  the  table  on  which  stood  the  bottles 
and  glasses. 

"I  want  a  drink,"  he  murmured. 

"You  want  quinine!"  cried  Vicenti  indignantly. 
'How  dared  you  go  swimming  at  night!  It  was 
madness!  If  the  fever 

He  flew  into  the  hall  where  he  had  left  his 
medicine-case,  and  Peter  ran  for  a  bathrobe.  As 
they  returned  with  them  there  was  a  crash  of 
broken  glass,  and  when  they  reached  the  patio  they 
found  Roddy  stretched  at  length  upon  the  stones. 

At  the  same  moment  a  little,  old  man  sprang 
from  the  garden  and  knelt  beside  him.  It  was 
Pedro. 

"He  is  dead!"  he  cried,  "he  is  dead!" 

His  grief  was  so  real  that  neither  Peter  nor 
Vicenti  could  suppose  he  was  other  than  a  friend, 
and  without  concerning  himself  as  to  how  he 

200 


The  White  Mice 

had  been  so  suddenly  precipitated  into  the  scene, 
Vicenti,  as  he  poured  brandy  between  Roddy's 
teeth,  commanded  Pedro  to  rub  and  beat  his  body. 
Coughing  and  choking,  Roddy  signalized  his  re 
turn  to  consciousness  by  kicking  the  little  man  in 
the  stomach. 

"Ah,  he  lives!"  cried  Pedro.  He  again  dropped 
upon  his  knees  and,  crossing  himself,  prayed  his 
thanks. 

Roddy  fell  into  the  bathrobe  and  into  the  steamer 
chair.  Sighing  luxuriously,  he  closed  his  eyes. 

"Such  a  fool,  to  faint,"  he  murmured.  "So 
ashamed.  Made  a  bet — with  harbor  sharks.  Bet 
them,  could  not  get  me.  I  win."  He  opened  his 
eyes  and  stared  dully  at  Pedro.  "Hello!"  he 
said,  "there's  good  old  Pedro.  What  you  doing 
here,  Pedro?" 

The  old  man,  now  recovered  from  his  fear  on 
Roddy's  account,  was  in  fresh  alarm  as  to  his  own, 
and,  glancing  at  Vicenti,  made  a  movement  to 
escape  into  the  garden. 

Roddy  waved  Vicenti  and  Peter  into  the  hall. 

"Go  away,"  he  commanded.  "He  wants  to 
talk  to  me." 

"  But  I  must  not  leave  you,"  protested  the  doc 
tor.  "Now  I  am  here  as  your  physician,  not  as 
your  guest." 

201 


The  White  Mice 

"A  moment,"  begged  Roddy,  "  a  moment."  His 
eyes  closed  and  his  head  fell  back.  Pedro  bent 
over  him. 

"She  sent  me,"  he  whispered  eagerly.  "She 
could  not  sleep.  She  must  know  to-night  if  you 
live.  I  hid  myself  in  your  garden,  and  I  wait  and 
I  wait.  But  you  do  not  come,  and  I  despair. 
And  then,"  cried  the  old  man  joyfully,  "the 
miracle!  Now  my  mistress  can  sleep  in  peace." 

Roddy  lay  so  still  that  had  it  not  been  for  his 
sharp  breathing  Pedro  would  have  thought  he  had 
again  fainted.  With  a  sudden,  sharp  cry  Roddy 
opened  his  eyes.  His  clenched  fists  beat  feebly  on 
the  arms  of  the  chair. 

"It's  a  lie!"  he  shouted  fiercely,  "it's  a  lie!  ' 
His  eyes  were  wide  and  staring.  Vicenti,  returning 
hastily,  looked  into  them  and,  with  an  exclamation, 
drew  back. 

"The  fever!"  he  said. 

Roddy  was  shouting  wildly. 

"It's  a  lie!"  he  cried.  "She  did  not  send  you. 
She  does  not  care  whether  I  drown  or  live.  She 
loves  Pino  Vega.  She  will  marry " 

Peter,  with  his  arm  around  Roddy's  neck, 
choked  him,  and  held  his  hand  over  his  mouth. 

"Be  still,"  he  entreated,  "for  God's  sake,  be 
still!"  He  looked  fearfully  at  Vicenti,  but  the 


The  White  Mice 

young  doctor,  though  his  eyes  were  wide  with 
astonishment,  made  an  impatient  gesture. 

"Kelp  me  get  him  to  bed,"  Vicenti  commanded 
briskly.  "Take  his  other  arm." 

With  the  strength  the  fever  lent  him,  Roddy 
hurled  the  two  men  from  him. 

"She  and  Vega — they  stood  on  the  wharf,"  he 
shouted,  "you  understand  ?  They  laughed  at  me. 
And  then  the  sharks  smelt  me  out  and  followed; 
and  I  couldn't  hide  because  the  harbor  was  on  fire. 
I  struck  at  them  and  screamed,  but  I  couldn't  shake 
them  off;  they  dived  and  turned;  they  crept  up  on 
me  stealthily,  in  great  circles.  They  were  waiting 
for  me  to  drown.  Whichever  way  I  swam  I  saw 
them,  under  me,  on  every  side !  They  lit  the  water 
with  great  streaks  of  flame.  And  she  and  Vega 
pointed  me  out  and  laughed." 

"Stop  him!"  shrieked  Peter.  "You  must  not 
listen!  Give  him  morphine!  Dope  him!  Stop 
him!" 

Roddy  wrenched  his  wrists  free  and  ran  to 
Pedro,  clutching  him  by  the  shoulders. 

"But  will  save  him!"  he  cried.  "We'll  set 
him  free!  Because  he  is  an  old  man.  Because 
he  is  a  great  man.  Because  he  is  her  father.  We'll 
make  him  President!"  His  voice  soared  exult 
antly.  "To  hell  with  Vega!"  he  shouted.  "To 

203 


The  White  Mice 

hell  with  Alvarez!"     He  flung  up  his  arms  into  the 
air.     "Viva  Rojas!"  he  cried. 

Peter  turned  on  Vicenti  and  shook  his  fist 
savagely  in  his  face, 

"What  you've  heard,"  he  threatened,  "youVe 
heard  under  the  seal  of  your  profession." 

But  the  eyes  that  looked  into  his  were  as  wild 
as  those  of  the  man  driven  with  fever.  The  face 
of  the  Venezuelan  was  jubilant,  exalted,  like  that 
of  a  worshipping  fanatic. 

"The  truth!"  he  whispered  breathlessly,  "the 
truth!" 

"The  boy  is  raving  mad,"  protested  Peter.  "He 
doesn't  mean  it.  You  have  heard  nothing!" 

From  the  servants'  quarters  there  came  the 
sound  of  hurrying  footsteps. 

In  alarm,  Vicenti  glanced  in  that  direction,  and 
then  came  close  to  Peter,  seizing  him  by  the  arm. 

"If  he's  mad,"  he  whispered  fiercely,  "then  7  am 
mad,  and  I  know  ten  thousand  more  as  mad  as  he." 

When  the  sun  rose  dripping  out  of  the  harbor, 
Vicenti  and  Peter  walked  into  the  garden. 

"I  can  leave  him  now,"  said  the  doctor.  He 
looked  at  Peter's  white  face  and  the  black  rings 
around  his  eyes,  and  laughed.  "When  he  wakes," 
he  said,  "he  will  be  in  much  better  health  than  you 
or  I." 

204 


The  White  Mice 

"He  certainly  gave  us  a  jolly  night,"  sighed 
Peter,  "and  I  shall  never  thank  you  enough  for 
staying  by  me  and  Pedro.  When  a  man  Fve 
roomed  with  for  two  years  can't  make  up  his 
mind  whether  I  am  I  or  a  shark,  it  gets  on  my 


nerves." 


A  few  hours  later,  in  another  garden  half  a  mile 
distant,  Pedro  was  telling  his  young  mistress  of  the 
night  just  past.  The  tears  stood  in  his  eyes  and 
his  hands  trembled  in  eloquent  pantomime. 

"He  is  so  like  my  young  master,  your  brother," 
he  pleaded,  "so  brave,  so  strong,  so  young,  and, 
like  him,  loves  so  deeply." 

"  I  am  very  grateful,"  said  the  girl  gently.  "  For 
my  father  and  for  me  he  risked  his  life.  I  am 
grateful  to  him — and  to  God,  who  spared  him." 

Pedro  lowered  his  eyes  as  he  repeated:  "And 
he  loves  so  deeply." 

The  girl  regarded  him  steadily. 

"What  is  it  you  wish  to  say  ?"  she  demanded. 

"All  through  the  night  I  sat  beside  him,"  an 
swered  the  old  man  eagerly,  "and  in  his  fever  he 
spoke  only  one  name." 

The  girl  turned  from  him  and  for  a  moment 
stood  looking  out  into  the  harbor. 

"Then  the  others  heard  ?"  she  said. 

Pedro,  with  a  deprecatory  gesture,  bowed.  With 
205 


The  White  Mice 

sudden  vehemence,  with  a  gesture  of  relief,  the  girl 
flung  out  her  arms. 

"I'm  glad,"  she  cried.  "I  am  tired  of  secrets, 
tired  of  deceit.  I  am  glad  they  know.  It  makes 
me  proud!  It  makes  me  happy!" 

During  the  long  night,  while  Roddy  had  tossed 
and  muttered,  Vicenti  talked  to  Peter  frankly  and 
freely.  He  held  back  nothing.  His  appointment 
as  prison  doctor  he  had  received  from  Alvarez,  but 
it  was  impossible  for  any  one  to  be  long  in  close 
contact  with  General  Rojas  and  not  learn  to  ad 
mire  and  love  him.  And  for  the  past  year  Vicenti 
had  done  all  in  his  power  to  keep  life  in  the  older 
man  and  to  work  for  his  release.  But  General 
Rojas,  embittered  by  past  experience,  did  not  con 
fide  in  him,  did  not  trust  him.  In  spite  of  this,  the 
doctor  had  continued  working  in  his  interests. 
He  assured  Peter  that  the  adherents  of  Rojas  were 
many,  that  they  were  well  organized,  that  they 
waited  only  for  the  proper  moment  to  revolt  against 
Alvarez,  release  Rojas,  and  place  him  in  power. 
On  their  programme  Vega  had  no  place.  They 
suspected  his  loyalty  to  his  former  patron  and 
chief,  they  feared  his  ambition;  and  they  believed, 
were  he  to  succeed  in  making  himself  President, 
he  would  be  the  servant  of  Forrester,  and  of  the 
other  foreigners  who  desired  concessions,  rather 

206 


The  White  Mice 

than  of  the  people  of  Venezuela.  The  amnesty, 
Vicenti  believed,  had  been  declared  only  that 
Alvarez  might  entice  Vega  to  Venezuela,  where, 
when  he  wished,  he  could  lay  his  hands  on  him. 
When  he  had  obtained  evidence  that  Vega  was 
plotting  against  him  he  would  submit  this  evidence 
to  the  people  and  throw  Vega  into  prison. 

"Vega  knows  his  danger,"  added  Vicenti,  "and, 
knowing  it,  he  must  mean  to  strike  soon — to-day — 
to-morrow.  We  of  the  Rojas  faction  are  as 
ignorant  of  his  plans  as  we  hope  he  is  of  ours. 
But  in  every  camp  there  are  traitors.  No  one  can 
tell  at  what  hour  all  our  secrets  may  not  be  made 
known.  Of  only  one  thing  you  can  be  certain: 
matters  cannot  continue  as  they  are.  Within  a 
week  you  will  see  this  country  torn  by  civil  war, 
or  those  who  oppose  Alvarez,  either  of  our  party  or 
of  Vega's,  will  be  in  prison." 

When  Roddy,  rested  and  refreshed  and  with 
normal  pulse  and  mind,  came  to  luncheon,  Peter 
confided  to  him  all  that  Vicenti  had  told  him. 

"If  all  that  is  going  to  happen,"  was  Roddy's 
comment,  "the  sooner  we  get  Rojas  free  the  better. 
We  will  begin  work  on  the  tunnel  to-night." 

The  attacking  party  consisted  of  McKildrick, 
Roddy,  and  Peter.  When  the  day's  task  on  the 
light-house  was  finished  and  the  other  workmen 

207 


The  White  Mice 

had  returned  to  the  city,  these  three  men  remained 
behind  and,  placing  crowbars,  picks,  and  sticks  of 
dynamite  in  Roddy's  launch,  proceeded  to  a  little 
inlet  a  half-mile  below  El  Morro.  By  seven  o'clock 
they  had  made  their  way  through  the  laurel  to  the 
fortress,  and  while  Roddy  and  Peter  acted  as 
lookouts  McKildrick  attacked  the  entrance  to  the 
tunnel.  He  did  not,  as  he  had  boasted,  open  it  in 
an  hour,  but  by  ten  o'clock  the  iron  bars  that  held 
the  slabs  together  had  been  cut  and  the  cement 
loosened.  Fearful  of  the  consequences  if  they 
returned  to  the  city  at  too  late  an  hour,  the  tools 
and  dynamite  were  hidden,  rubbish  and  vines 
were  so  scattered  as  to  conceal  the  evidence  of 
their  work,  and  the  launch  landed  the  conspirators 
at  Roddy's  wharf. 

"We  shall  say,"  explained  Roddy,  "that  we 
have  been  out  spearing  eels,  and  I  suggest  that  we 
now  go  to  the  Dos  Hermanos  and  say  it." 

They  found  the  cafe,  as  usual,  crowded.  Men 
of  all  political  opinions,  officers  of  the  army  and 
the  custom-house,  from  the  tiny  warship  in  the 
harbor,  Vegaistas,  and  those  who  secretly  were 
adherents  of  Rojas,  were  all  gathered  amicably 
together.  The  Americans,  saluting  impartially 
their  acquaintances,  made  their  way  to  a  table  that 
remained  empty  in  the  middle  of  the  room.  They 

208 


The  White  Mice 

had  hardly  seated  themselves  when  from  a  distaiK 
corner  an  alert  young  man,  waving  his  hand  in 
greeting,  pushed  his  way  toward  them.  They 
recognized  the  third  vice-president  of  the  Forrester 
Construction  Company,  Mr.  Sam  Caldwell. 

Mr.  Caldwell  had  arrived  that  afternoon.  He 
was  delighted  at  being  free  of  the  ship.  At  the 
house  of  Colonel  Vega  he  had  dined  well,  and  at 
sight  of  familiar  faces  he  was  inclined  to  unbend. 
He  approached  the  employees  of  the  company  as 
one  conferring  a  favor  and  assured  of  a  welcome. 
He  appreciated  that  since  his  arrival  he  was  the 
man  of  the  moment.  In  the  crowded  restaurant 
every  one  knew  him  as  the  representative  of  that 
great  corporation  that  had  dared  to  lock  horns  with 
the  government.  As  he  passed  the  tables  the 
officers  of  that  government  followed  him  with  a 
scowl  or  a  sneer;  those  of  the  Vegaistas,  who 
looked  upon  him  as  the  man  who  dealt  out  money, 
ammunition  and  offices,  with  awe.  How  the  secret 
supporters  of  Rojas  considered  him  was  soon  to 
appear. 

"This,"  Roddy  whispered  in  a  quick  aside, 
"is  where  I  renounce  the  F.  C.  C.  and  all  its 
works." 

"Don't  be  an  ass!"  entreated  Peter. 

Roddy  rose  and,  with  his  hands  sunk  in  his 
209 


The  White  Mice 

pockets,  awaited  the  approach  of  the  third  vice- 
president. 

"Well,  boys,  here  I  am!"  called  that  young  man 
heartily.  He  seemed  to  feel  that  his  own  surprise 
at  finding  himself  outside  the  limits  of  Greater  New 
York  must  be  shared  by  all.  But,  as  though  to 
see  to  whom  this  greeting  was  extended,  Roddy 
turned  and  glanced  at  his  companions. 

McKildrick  rose  and  stood  uncomfortably. 

"Well,  Roddy,"  exclaimed  Sam  Caldwell  gen 
ially,  "how's  business  ?" 

Roddy's  eyebrows  rose. 

"'Roddy  ?'"  he  repeated,  as  though  he  had  not 
heard  aright.  "Are  you  speaking  to  me  ?" 

Sam  Caldwell  was  conscious  that  over  all  the 
room  there  had  come  a  sudden  hush.  A  waiter, 
hurrying  with  a  tray  of  jingling  glasses,  by  some 
unseen  hand  was  jerked  by  the  apron  and  brought 
to  abrupt  silence.  In  the  sudden  quiet  Roddy's 
voice  seemed  to  Caldwell  to  have  come  through  a 
megaphone.  The  pink,  smooth-shaven  cheeks  of 
the  newcomer,  that  were  in  such  contrast  to  the 
dark  and  sun-tanned  faces  around  him,  turned 
slowly  red. 

"What's  the  idea  ?"  he  asked. 

"You  sent  me  a  cable  to  Curasao,"  Roddy  re 
plied,  "telling  me  to  mind  my  own  business." 

2IO 


The  White  Mice 

It  had  never  been  said  of  Sam  Caldwell  that  he 
was  an  unwilling  or  unworthy  antagonist.  He 
accepted  Roddy's  challenge  promptly.  His  little, 
piglike  eyes  regarded  Roddy  contemptuously. 

"I  did,"  he  retaliated,  "at  your  father's  dicta 


tion." 


"Well,  my  business  hours,"  continued  Roddy 
undisturbed,  "are  between  eight  and  five.  If  you 
come  out  to  the  light-house  to-morrow  you  will  see 
me  minding  my  own  business  and  bossing  a  gang 
of  niggers,  at  twenty  dollars  a  week.  Outside  of 
business  hours  I  choose  my  own  company." 

Caldwell  came  closer  to  him  and  dropped  his 
voice. 

"Are  you  sober  ?"  he  demanded. 

"Perfectly,"  said  Roddy. 

Caldwell  surveyed  him  grimly. 

"  You  are  more  out  of  hand  than  we  thought," 
he  commented.  "  I  have  heard  some  pretty  strange 
tales  about  you  this  afternoon.  Are  they  true  ?" 

"You  have  your  own  methods  of  finding  out," 
returned  Roddy.  He  waved  his  hand  toward  the 
table.  "  If  you  wish  to  join  these  gentlemen  I  am 
delighted  to  withdraw." 

Caldwell  retreated  a  few  steps  and  then  turned 
back  angrily. 

"I'll  have  a  talk  with  you  to-morrow."  he  said, 
211 


The  White  Mice 

"and  to-night  I'll  cable  your  father  what  you  are 
doing  here." 

Roddy  bowed  and  slightly  raised  his  voice,  so 
that  it  reached  to  every  part  of  the  room. 

"If  you  can  interest  my  father,"  he  said,  "in 
anything  that  concerns  his  son  I  shall  be  grateful." 

As  Caldwell  made  his  way  to  the  door,  and 
Roddy,  frowning  gravely,  sank  back  into  his  chair, 
the  long  silence  was  broken  by  a  babble  of  whis 
pered  questions  and  rapid  answers.  Even  to  those 
who  understood  no  English  the  pantomime  had 
been  sufficiently  enlightening.  Unobtrusively  the 
secret  agents  of  Alvarez  rose  from  the  tables  and 
stole  into  the  night.  A  half-hour  later  it  was 
known  in  Caracas  ^that  the  son  of  Mr.  Forrester 
had  publicly  insulted  the  representative  of  his 
father,  the  arch-enemy  of  the  government,  and 
had  apparently  ranged  himself  on  the  side  of 
Alvarez.  Hitherto  the  Dos  Hcrmanos  had  been 
free  from  politics,  but  as  Roddy  made  his  exit  from 
the  cafe,  the  officers  of  the  army  chose  the  moment 
for  a  demonstration.  Revolution  was  in  the  air, 
and  they  desired  to  declare  their  loyalty.  Rising 
to  their  feet  and  raising  their  glasses  to  Roddy  they 
cried,  "Bravo,  bravo!  Viva  Alvarez!" 

Bowing  and  nodding  to  them  and  wishing  them 
good-night,  Roddy  hurried  to  the  street. 


212 


The  White  Mice 

Under  the  lamps  of  the  Alameda  McKildrick 
regarded  him  quizzically. 

"And  what  do  you  gain  by  that  ?"  he  asked. 

"Well,  I  force  Sam  into  the  open,"  declared 
Roddy,  "and  I'm  no  longer  on  the  suspect  list. 
Look  at  my  record!  I've  insulted  everybody.  I 
have  insulted  Rojas,  insulted  Vega,  insulted  Cald- 
well,  all  enemies  of  Alvarez.  So  now  the  Alvarez 
crowd  will  love  me.  Now  they  trust  me !  If  they 
caught  me  digging  the  tunnel  and  I  told  them  I 
was  building  a  light-house,  they'd  believe  me.  If 
I  insult  a  few  more  people  they'll  give  me  the  Order 
of  Bolivar." 

The  next  morning  Roddy  attended  Mass.  But 
he  was  not  entirely  engrossed  in  his  devotions. 
Starting  from  the  front  entrance  of  the  church  he 
moved  slowly  nearer  and  nearer  to  the  altar,  and, 
slipping  from  the  shelter  of  one  pillar  to  another, 
anxiously  scanned  the  rows  of  kneeling  women. 
He  found  the  mantilla  a  baffling  disguise,  and  as 
each  woman  present  in  the  church  wore  one,  and 
as  the  hair  of  each  was  black,  and  as  the  back  of 
the  head  of  one  woman  is  very  much  like  that 
of  another,  it  was  not  until  the  worshippers  had 
turned  to  leave  that  he  discovered  the  Senorita 
Inez  Rojas.  In  her  black  satin  dress,  with  her 
face  wreathed  by  the  black  lace  mantilla,  Roddy 

213 


The  White  Mice 

thought  he  had  never  seen  her  look  more 
beautiful. 

After  her  explicit  commands  that  he  should  not 
attempt  to  see  her  again  he  was  most  anxious  she 
should  not  learn  how  soon  he  had  disobeyed  her; 
and  that  she  was  walking  with  her  sister  and  mother 
made  it  still  more  necessary  that  he  should  remain 
unnoticed. 

But  in  his  eagerness  and  delight  in  the  sight  of 
her  he  leaned  far  forward.  Inez,  at  that  instant 
raising  her  eyes,  saw  him.  Of  the  two  Roddy  was 
the  more  concerned.  The  girl  made  no  sign  of 
recognition,  but  the  next  moment,  with  an  exclama 
tion,  she  suddenly  unclasped  her  hands,  and,  as 
though  to  show  they  were  empty,  held  them  toward 
her  mother  and  sister.  Leaving  them,  she  returned 
hurriedly  toward  the  altar.  Senora  Rojas  and  the 
sister  continued  on  their  way  toward  the  door, 
exchanging  greetings  with  the  women  of  their 
acquaintance,  whom,  after  an  absence  of  two 
years,  they  now  met  for  the  first  time.  Seeing 
them  thus  engaged  Inez  paused  and,  turning, 
looked  directly  at  Roddy.  Her  glance  was  not 
forbidding,  and  Roddy,  who  needed  but  little  en 
couragement,  hastened  to  follow.  The  church  was 
very  dark.  The  sunlight  came  only  through  the 
lifted  curtains  at  the  farthest  entrance,  and  the 

214 


The  White  Mice 

acolytes  were  already  extinguishing  the  candles, 
that  had  illuminated  the  altar.  As  Inez,  in  the 
centre  of  the  church,  picked  her  way  among  the 
scattered  praying-chairs,  Roddy,  in  the  side  aisle 
and  hidden  by  the  pillars,  kept  pace  with  her. 

Directly  in  front  of  the  altar  Inez  stooped,  and, 
after  picking  up  a  fan  and  a  prayer-book,  stood 
irresolutely  looking  about  her.  Roddy  cautiously 
emerged  from  the  side  aisle  and  from  behind  the 
last  of  the  long  row  of  pillars.  Inez  came  quickly 
toward  him.  The  last  of  the  acolytes  to  leave  the 
altar,  in  their  haste  to  depart,  stumbled  and  tripped 
past  them,  leaving  them  quite  alone.  Concealed 
by  the  great  pillar  from  all  of  those  in  the  far  front 
of  the  church,  Inez  gave  Roddy  her  hand.  The 
eyes  that  looked  into  his  were  serious,  penitent. 

"I  am  so  sorry,"  she  begged;  "can  you  forgive 
me?" 

"Forgive  you!"  whispered  Roddy.  His  voice 
was  rilled  with  such  delight  that  it  was  apparently 
a  sufficient  answer.  Inez,  smiling  slightly,  with 
drew  her  hand,  and  taking  from  inside  her  glove 
a  folded  piece  of  paper,  thrust  it  toward  him. 

"I  brought  this  for  you,"  she  said. 

Roddy  seized  it  greedily. 

"  For  me ! "  he  exclaimed  in  surprise.  As  though 
in  apology  for  the  question  he  raised  his  eyes 

215 


The  White  Mice 

appealingly.  "How  did  you  know,"  he  begged, 
"that  I  would  be  here?" 

For  an  instant,  with  a  frown,  the  girl  regarded 
him  steadily.  Then  her  cheeks  flushed  slightly 
and  her  eyes  grew  radiant.  She  flashed  upon  him 
the  same  mocking,  dazzling  smile  that  twice  before 
had  left  him  in  complete  subjection. 

"How  did  you  know,"  she  returned,  "7  would 
he  here?" 

She  moved  instantly  from  him,  but  Roddy 
started  recklessly  in  pursuit. 

"Wait!"  he  demanded.  "Just  what  does  that 
mean?" 

With  an  imperative  gesture  the  girl  motioned 
him  back,  and  then,  as  though  to  soften  the  harsh 
ness  of  the  gesture,  reassured  him  in  a  voice  full  of 
consideration. 

"The  note  will  tell  you,"  she  whispered,  and, 
turning  her  back  on  him,  hurried  to  the  door. 

Roddy  allowed  her  sufficient  time  in  which  to 
leave  the  neighborhood  of  the  church,  and  while 
he  waited,  as  the  most  obvious  method  of  express 
ing  his  feelings,  stuffed  all  the  coins  in  his  pockets 
into  the  poor-box.  From  the  church  he  hastened 
to  an  empty  bench  in  the  Alameda,  and  opened  the 
note.  He  was  surprised  to  find  that  it  came  from 
Mrs.  Broughton,  the  wife  of  the  English  Consul  at 

216 


The  White  Mice 

Porto  Cabello.  She  was  an  American  girl  who, 
against  the  advice  of  her  family,  had  married  an 
Englishman,  and  one  much  older  than  herself. 
Since  their  marriage  he  had  indulged  and  spoiled 
her  as  recklessly  as  any  American  might  have  done, 
and  at  the  same  time,  in  his  choice  of  a  wife,  had 
continued  to  consider  himself  a  most  fortunate 
individual.  Since  his  arrival  at  Porto  Cabello 
Roddy  had  been  a  friend  of  each.  For  hours  he 
would  play  in  the  garden  with  their  children,  with 
out  considering  it  necessary  to  inform  either  the 
father  or  mother  that  he  was  on  the  premises;  and 
on  many  evenings  the  Broughtons  and  himself  sat 
in  his  patio  reading  the  American  periodicals, 
without  a  word  being  spoken  by  any  one  of  them 
until  they  said  good-night.  But  since  his  return 
from  Curasao,  Roddy  had  been  too  occupied  with 
coming  events  to  remember  old  friends. 
The  note  read: 

"DEAR  MR.  FORRESTER:  My  husband  and  I 
have  not  seen  you  for  ages,  and  the  children  cry 
for  'Uncle  Roddy/  Will  you  and  Mr.  De  Peyster 
take  tea  with  us  day  after  to-morrow  ?  The  only 
other  friend  who  is  coming  will  give  you  this 
note:' 

The  Broughtons  had  been  stationed  at  Porto 

8X7 


The  White  Mice 

Cabello  for  five  years,  and,  as  Roddy  now  saw,  it 
was  most  natural  that  in  the  limited  social  life  of 
Porto  Cabello  the  two  American  girls  should  be 
friends.  That  he  had  not  already  thought  of  the 
possibility  of  this  filled  him  with  rage,  and,  at  the 
same  time,  the  promise  held  forth  by  the  note 
grilled  him  with  pleasure.  He  leaped  to  his  feet 
and  danced  jubilantly  upon  the  gravel  walk. 
Tearing  the  note  into  scraps  he  hurled  them  into 
the  air. 

"Mary  Broughton!"  he  exclaimed  ecstatically, 
"you're  a  brick!" 

Such  was  his  feeling  of  gratitude  to  the  lady,  that 
he  at  once  sought  out  a  confectioner's  and  sent  her 
many  pounds  of  the  candied  fruits  that  have  made 
Venezuela  famous,  and  that,  on  this  occasion,  for 
several  days  made  the  Broughton  children  ex 
tremely  ill. 

That  night  the  attack  on  the  barricade  to  the 
tunnel  was  made  with  a  vigor  no  cement  nor  rusty 
iron  could  resist.  Inspired  by  the  thought  that  on 
the  morrow  he  would  see  Inez,  and  that  she  her 
self  wished  to  see  him,  and  anxious  to  give  her  a 
good  report  of  the  work  of  rescue,  Roddy  toiled 
like  a  coal-passer.  His  energy  moved  McKildrick 
and  Peter  to  endeavors  equally  strenuous,  and  by 
nine  o'clock  the  great  stone  slabs  were  wedged 

218 


The  White  Mice 

apart,  and  on  the  warm-scented  night  air  and  upon 
the  sweating  bodies  of  the  men  there  struck  a  cold, 
foul  breath  that  told  them  one  end  of  the  tunnel  lay 
open. 


VII 


RODDY  was  for  at  once  dashing  down  the  stone 
steps  and  exploring  the  tunnel,  but  McKil- 
drick  held  him  back. 

"You  couldn't  live  for  a  moment,"  he  protested, 
"and  it  may  be  days  before  we  can  enter."  In 
proof  of  what  he  said,  he  lit  one  wax  match  after 
another,  and  as  he  passed  each  over  the  mouth  of 
the  tunnel  Roddy  saw  the  flame  sicken  and  die. 

"That  has  been  a  tomb  for  half  a  century," 
McKildrick  reminded  him.  "Even  if  a  strong, 
young  idiot  like  you  could  breathe  that  air,  Rojas 
couldn't." 

"All  the  same,  I  am  going  down,"  said  Roddy. 

"And  I  tell  you,  you  are  not!"  returned  McKil 
drick. 

Roddy,  jubilant  and  grandly  excited,  laughed 
mockingly. 

"'Am  /  the  Governor  of  these  Isles,  or  is  it  an 
Emilio  Aguinaldo?"  he  demanded.  "This  is 
my  expedition,  and  I  speak  to  lead  the  forlorn 
hope." 

Exclaiming  with  impatience,  McKildrick 
220 


The  White  Mice 

brought  a  rope  and,  making  a  noose,  slipped  it 
under  Roddy's  arms. 

"All  we  ask,"  he  said  grimly,  "is  that  when  you 
faint  you'll  fall  with  your  head  toward  us.  Other 
wise  we  will  bump  it  into  a  jelly." 

Roddy  switched  on  the  light  in  his  electric  torch 
and,  like  a  diver  descending  a  sea-ladder,  moved 
cautiously  down  the  stone  steps.  Holding  the  rope 
taut,  Peter  leaned  over  the  opening. 

"When  the  snakes  and  bats  and  vampires  get 
you,"  he  warned,  "you'll  wish  you  were  back 
among  the  sharks!" 

But  Roddy  did  not  hear  him.  As  though  ward 
ing  off  a  blow  he  threw  his  hands  across  his  face 
and  dropped  heavily. 

"Heave!"  cried  Peter. 

The  two  men  sank  their  heels  in  the  broken  rub 
bish  and  dragged  on  the  rope  until  they  could  lay 
violent  hands  on  Roddy's  shoulders.  With  unnec 
essary  roughness  they  pulled  him  out  of  the  open 
ing  and  let  him  fall. 

When  Roddy  came  to  he  rose  sheepishly. 

"We'll  have  to  postpone  that  expedition,"  he 
said,  "until  we  can  count  on  better  ventilation. 
Meanwhile,  if  any  gentleman  wants  to  say  'I  told 
you  so,'  I'll  listen  to  him." 

They  replaced  the  slabs  over  the  mouth  of  the 

221 


The  White  Mice 

tunnel,  but  left  wide  openings  through  which  the 
air  and  sunlight  could  circulate,  and,  after  conceal 
ing  these  openings  with  vines,  returned  to  Roddy's 
house.  There  they  found  Vicenti  awaiting  them. 
He  was  the  bearer  of  important  news.  The  adhe 
rents  of  Colonel  Vega,  he  told  them,  were  assem 
bling  in  force  near  Porto  Cabello,  and  it  was  well 
understood  by  the  government  that  at  any  mo 
ment  Vega  might  join  them  and  proclaim  his  revo 
lution.  That  he  was  not  already  under  arrest  was 
due  to  the  fact  that  the  government  wished  to 
seize  not  only  the  leader,  but  all  of  those  who  were 
planning  to  leave  the  city  with  him.  The  home  of 
Vega  was  surrounded,  and  he  himself,  in  his  walks 
abroad,  closely  guarded.  That  he  would  be  able 
to  escape  seemed  all  but  impossible. 

"At  the  same  time,"  continued  Vicenti,  "our 
own  party  is  in  readiness.  If  Vega  reaches  his  fol 
lowers  and  starts  on  his  march  to  the  capital  we 
will  start  an  uprising  here  in  favor  of  Rojas.  If 
we  could  free  Rojas  and  show  him  to  the  people, 
nothing  could  save  Alvarez.  Alvarez  knows  that 
as  well  as  ourselves.  But  without  artillery  it  is 
impossible  to  subdue  the  fortress  of  San  Carlos. 
We  can  take  this  city;  we  can  seize  the  barracks, 
the  custom-house,  but  not  San  Carlos.  There  also 
is  this  danger;  that  Alvarez,  knowing  without 

222 


The  White  Mice 

Rojas  our  party  would  fall  to  pieces,  may  at  the 
first  outbreak  order  him  to  be  shot." 

Roddy  asked  Vicenti,  as  the  physician  of  Rojas, 
if  he  thought  Rojas  were  strong  enough  to  lead 
a  campaign. 

"He  is  not/'  declared  Vicenti,  "but  we  would 
not  ask  it  of  him.  Let  him  only  show  himself  and 
there  will  be  no  campaign.  Even  the  government 
troops  would  desert  to  him.  But,"  he  added  with 
a  sigh,  "why  talk  of  the  impossible!  The  troops 
that  hold  San  Carlos  are  bound  to  Alvarez.  He 
has  placed  there  only  those  from  his  own  planta 
tion;  he  has  paid  them  royally.  And  they  have 
other  reasons  for  fighting  to  the  death.  Since  they 
have  been  stationed  at  Porto  Cabello  their  conduct 
has  been  unspeakable.  And  the  men  of  this  town 
hate  them  as  much  as  the  women  fear  them.  Their 
cruelty  to  the  political  prisoners  is  well  known, 
and  they  understand  that  if  an  uprising  started 
here  where  Rojas  has  lived,  where  he  is  dearly 
loved,  they  need  expect  no  mercy.  They  will 
fight,  not  to  protect  San  Carlos,  but  for  their 
lives." 

Vicenti  spoke  with  such  genuine  feeling  that  had 
Roddy  felt  free  to  do  so  he  would  have  told  him  of 
the  plan  to  rescue  Rojas.  But  both  Peter  and 
McKildrick  had  warned  him  that  until  the  last 

223 


The  White  Mice 

moment  no  one,  save  themselves,  must  learn  the 
secret  of  the  tunnel. 

So,  while  they  thanked  Vicenti  for  his  confi 
dences,  they  separated  for  the  night  without  having 
made  him  any  return  in  kind. 

The  next  morning,  Sam  Caldwell,  under  the 
guidance  of  McKildrick,  paid  an  official  visit  to 
the  light-house  on  which  the  men  of  the  F.  C.  C. 
were  then  at  work.  When  his  tour  of  inspection 
was  finished  he  returned  to  the  wheel-house  of  the 
tug  that  had  brought  him  across  the  harbor,  and 
sent  for  Roddy.  Roddy  appeared  before  him  in 
his  working-clothes.  They  consisted  of  very  few 
garments,  and  those  were  entirely  concealed  by  the 
harbor  mud.  Caldwell,  in  cool,  clean  duck  and 
a  flamboyant  Panama  hat,  signified  with  a  grin 
that  he  enjoyed  the  contrast.  He  did  not  like 
Roddy,  and  Roddy  treated  him  with  open  inso 
lence.  They  were  nearly  of  the  same  age  and  for 
years  had  known  each  other,  but  they  had  always 
been  at  war.  As  son  of  the  president  of  the  com 
pany,  every  chance  had  been  given  Roddy  to  ad 
vance  his  own  interests.  And  it  was  not  so  much 
that  he  had  failed  to  be  of  service  to  the  company, 
as  that  he  had  failed  to  push  himself  forward,  that 
caused  Caldwell  to  regard  him  with  easy  contempt. 

On  his  side,  Roddy  considered  Caldwell  the 
224 


The  White  Mice 

bribe-giver  and  keeper  of  the  corruption  fund  for 
the  company,  and,  as  such,  beneath  his  royal  no 
tice.  It  therefore  followed  that  in  his  present  posi 
tion  of  brief  authority  over  Roddy,  Caldwell  found 
a  certain  enjoyment.  This  he  concealed  beneath 
the  busy  air  of  a  man  of  affairs. 

"I  have  a  cable  here  from  your  father,  Roddy," 
he  began  briskly.  "Translated,  the  part  that  re 
fers  to  you  reads,  'Tell  Forrester  take  orders  from 
you  or  leave  service  company.  If  refuses,  furnish 
return  passage,  month's  wages." 

After  a  pause,  Roddy  said :  "  I  take  it  that  is  in 
answer  to  a  cable  from  you." 

"Exactly,"  assented  Caldwell.  "I  informed 
your  father  you  were  insubordinate  to  my  authority, 
and  that  I  had  been  reliably  informed  you  were 
hostile  to  our  interests.  What  you  do  as  an  indi 
vidual  doesn't  count  for  much,  but  as  the  son  of 
your  father,  apparently  down  here  at  least,  it  does. 
Why  you  made  that  play  at  me  last  night  I  don't 
know,  and  I  haven't  time  to  find  out.  I  am  not 
here  to  teach  you  manners.  But  when  you  butt  in 
and  interfere  with  the  business  of  the  company 
I  must  take  notice.  You've  either  got  to  stop 
working  against  us,  or  go  home.  Which  do  you 
want  to  do  ?  And  before  you  answer,"  Caldwell 
added,  "you  ought  to  know  that,  as  it  is,  you 

225 


The  White  Mice 

don't  stand  very  high  at  headquarters.  When 
your  father  got  word  you'd  been  fighting  Vega, 
our  friend,  in  defense  of  Alvarez,  the  man  that's 
robbing  us,  that's  giving  us  all  this  trouble,  he  was 
naturally  pretty  hot.  He  said  to  me:  'Roddy  isn't 
down  there  to  mix  up  in  politics,  but  if  he  does,  he 
must  mix  up  on  our  side.  I  can't  take  money  from 
the  company  to  support  my  son,  or  any  one  else, 
who  is  against  it.'  That's  what  your  father  said  to 
me.  Now,  as  I  understand  it,  although  it  is  none 
of  my  business,  you  are  dependent  on  him,  and 
I  advise " 

"As  you  say,"  interrupted  Roddy,  "it's  none  of 
your  business.  The  other  proposition,"  he  went 
on,  "that  I  can't  take  money  from  the  company 
and  work  against  it,  is  fair  enough.  What  you  call 
my  work  against  it  was  begun  before  I  knew  it  was 
in  any  way  opposed  to  the  company's  interests. 
Now  that  I  do  know,  I  quite  agree  that  either 
I  must  give  up  my  outside  job  or  quit  working  for 
you."  Roddy  reached  to  the  shoulder  of  his  flan 
nel  shirt,  and  meditatively  began  to  unroll  his 
damp  and  mud-soaked  sleeve.  "I  guess  I'll  quit 
now!"  he  said. 

The  answer  was  not  the  one  Caldwell  expected 
or  desired.  As  an  employee  of  the  company  Roddy 
was  not  important,  but  what  he  was  doing  as  an 

226 


The  White  Mice 

individual,  which  had  so  greatly  excited  Vega, 
was  apparently  of  much  importance.  And  what 
it  might  be  Sam  Caldwell  was  anxious  to  discover. 
He  had  enjoyed  his  moment  of  triumph  and  now 
adopted  a  tone  more  conciliatory. 

"There's  no  use  getting  hot  about  it,"  he  urged. 
"  Better  think  it  over." 

Roddy  nodded,  and  started  to  leave  the  wheel- 
house. 

"Have  thought  it  over,"  he  said. 

As  Caldwell  saw  it,  Roddy  was  acting  from 
pique  and  in  the  belief  that  his  father  would  con 
tinue  to  supply  him  with  funds.  This  Caldwell 
knew  was  not  the  intention  of  Mr.  Forrester.  He 
had  directed  Caldwell  to  inform  Roddy  that  if  he 
deliberately  opposed  him  he  must  not  only  seek 
work  elsewhere,  but  that  he  did  not  think  he 
should  continue  to  ask  his  father  for  support.  Cald 
well  proceeded  to  make  this  quite  plain  to  Roddy, 
but,  except  that  the  color  in  his  face  deepened  and 
that  his  jaw  set  more  firmly,  Roddy  made  no  sign. 

"Very  well,  then,"  concluded  Caldwell,  "you 
leave  me  no  other  course  than  to  carry  out  your 
father's  direction.  I'll  give  you  a  month's  wages 
and  pay  your  passage-money  home." 

"I'm  not  going  home,"  returned  Roddy,  "and 
I  don't  want  any  money  I  haven't  worked  for.  The 

227 


The  White  Mice 

company  isn't  discharging  me,"  he  added  with  a 
grin,  "as  it  would  a  cook.  I  am  discharging  the 
company." 

"I  warn  you  your  father  won't  stand  for  it," 
protested  Caldwell. 

Roddy  turned  back,  and  in  a  serious  tone,  and 
emphasizing  his  words  with  a  pointed  forefinger, 
spoke  earnestly. 

"Sam,"  he  said,  "I  give  you  my  word,  father  is 
in  wrong.  You  are  in  wrong.  You're  both  back 
ing  the  wrong  stable.  When  this  row  starts  your 
man  Vega  won't  run  one,  two,  three." 

"You  mean  Rojas?"  said  Caldwell. 

"I  mean  Rojas,"  replied  Roddy.  "And  if  you 
and  father  had  trusted  me  I  could  have  told  you  so 
three  months  ago.  It  would  have  saved  you  a  lot 
of  money.  It  isn't  too  late  even  now.  You'd  better 
listen  to  me." 

Caldwell  laughed  comfortably. 

"Rojas  is  a  back  number,"  he  said.  "He's  an 
old  man,  and  a  dead  one.  And  besides — "  He 
hesitated  and  glanced  away. 

"Well?"  demanded  Roddy. 

"And,  besides,"  continued  Caldwell  slowly, 
picking  his  words,  "Vega  is  going  to  marry  his 
daughter,  and  so  we  win  both  ways.  And  Vega  is 
amenable  to  reason.  He  will  help  us."  As  though 

228 


The  White  Mice 

in  a  sudden  burst  of  confidence  he  added  ingra 
tiatingly,  "And  you  could  help  your  father,  too,  if 
you  liked.  If  you'll  tell  me  what  the  Rojas  party 
mean  to  do  I'll  set  you  right  with  your  father. 
What  do  you  say  ?" 

"What  do  I  say,  you  poor,  little — thing !" 
Roddy  roared.  Then  he  laughed  shortly  and 
shrugged  his  shoulders.  "I'll  say  this  much,"  he 
added.  "If  I  were  sure  you  couldn't  swim  I'd 
throw  you  into  the  harbor." 

"So  you  could  pull  me  out,"  laughed  CaldwelL 
"Why  don't  you  ?  You  know  you  were  always  a 
grand-stand  actor,  Roddy.  Think  how  heroic  it 
would  be,"  he  taunted,  "to  rescue  the  hated  enemy, 
to  save  my  life!" 

Roddy,  unmoved,  regarded  him  thoughtfully. 

"It  would  be  an  awful  thing  to  have  on  one's 
conscience,"  he  said,  and  left  the  wheel-house. 

When,  at  five  o'clock  that  same  afternoon,. 
Roddy  found  himself  sitting  opposite  Inez  Rojas 
in  a  properly  appointed  drawing-room,  guarded 
by  a  properly  appointed  chaperon  and  with  a  cup 
of  tea  on  his  knee,  the  situation  struck  him  not  only 
as  delightful,  but  comic.  With  inward  amusement 
he  thought  of  their  other  meetings:  those  befoie 
sunrise,  and  the  one  by  moonlight  when  Inez  had 
told  him  he  was  seeing  her  for  the  last  time,, 

229 


The  White  Mice 

and  when  policemen  threatened  his  advance  and 
sharks  cut  off  his  retreat.  From  a  smile  in  the 
eyes  of  the  girl  herself  Roddy  guessed  that  she  also 
found  the  meeting  not  without  its  humorous  side. 
Roddy  soon  discovered  he  could  not  adjust  his 
feelings  to  the  exigencies  of  an  afternoon  call.  After 
doing  his  duty  as  an  adopted  uncle  to  the  Brough- 
ton  children  and  to  his  hostess  and  her  tea  and  to 
Peter,  in  permitting  him  ten  minutes'  talk  with 
Inez,  he  brought  that  interview  to  an  abrupt  end. 

"Miss  Rojas,"  he  exclaimed,  "you  haven't  seen 
Mrs.  Broughton's  garden  in  two  years,  have  you  ? 
Such  a  lot  of  things  grow  up  in  two  years.  Let  me 
introduce  them  to  you." 

Giving  her  no  chance  to  demur,  Roddy  strode 
out  of  the  French  windows  into  the  garden,  and, 
as  Inez  with  an  apologetic  bow  to  the  others  fol 
lowed,  Peter  moved  to  a  chair  beside  Mrs.  Brough- 
ton  and  held  out  his  empty  cup. 

"There's  a  certain  subtlety  about  Roddy's 
methods,"  he  remarked,  "that  would  easily  de 
ceive  the  deaf,  dumb  and  blind." 

The  garden  was  full  of  rare  trees,  plants  and 
flowers  brought  from  every  island  of  the  Caribbean 
Sea,  but  Roddy  did  not  pause  to  observe  them. 
He  led  the  way  to  a  bench  under  a  cluster  of 
young  bamboo  trees  and  motioned  to  the  girl  to 

230 


The  White  Mice 

sit  down.  When  she  had  done  so  he  seated  him 
self  sideways  on  the  bench  and  gazed  at  her.  His 
eyes  were  filled  with  happiness. 

"It's  quite  too  wonderful  to  be  true/'  he  said 
contentedly. 

Inez  Rojas  turned  to  the  tropical  splendor  of 
the  garden. 

"Yes,"  she  answered.  "Everything  grows  so 
fast  here.  The  change  is  quite  wonderful." 

Roddy  shook  his  head  at  her  disappointedly. 

"You  mustn't  do  that,"  he  reproved  her  gravely; 
"when  you  know  what  I  mean  you  mustn't  pre 
tend  to  think  I  mean  something  else.  It's  not 
honest.  And  time  is  too  short.  To  me — these 
moments  are  too  tremendously  valuable.  Every 
other  time  I  have  seen  you  I've  had  to  keep  looking 
over  my  shoulder  for  spies.  Even  now,"  he  ex 
claimed  in  alarm,  "those  infernal  Broughton  chil 
dren  may  find  me  and  want  to  play  ride-a-cock- 
horse!  So  you  see,"  he  went  on  eagerly,  "you 
must  not  waste  time  misunderstanding  me." 

"Will  you  tell  me  about  the  tunnel  ?"  asked  the 
girl. 

"The  tunnel!"  repeated  Roddy  blankly. 

But  he  saw  that  her  mind  was  occupied  only 
with  thoughts  of  her  father,  and  at  once,  briskly 
and  clearly,  he  explained  to  her  all  that  had  been 

231 


The  White  Mice 

accomplished,  and  all  the  plots  and  counterplots 
that  were  in  the  air. 

"And  how  soon,"  asked  the  girl,  "do  you  think 
it  will  be  safe  to  enter  the  tunnel  ?" 

Roddy  answered  that  McKildrick  thought  in 
two  or  three  days  it  would  be  clean  of  poisonous 
gases,  but  that  that  night  they  would  again  attempt 
to  explore  it. 

"If  I  could  only  help!"  exclaimed  Inez.  "It  is 
not  fair  that  strangers  to  my  father  should  be  tak 
ing  a  risk  that  should  fall  to  one  of  his  children. 
It  would  mean  so  much,  it  would  make  me  so 
happy,  if  I  could  feel  I  had  done  any  little  thing  for 
him.  You  cannot  know  how  grateful  I  am  to  you 
all,  to  your  friends,  and  to  you!"  Her  eyes  opened 
wide  in  sympathy.  "And  you  were  so  ill,"  she 
•exclaimed,  "and  the  fever  is  so  likely  to  return. 
I  do  not  see  how  it  is  possible  for  you  to  work  at 
night  at  El  Morro  and  by  day  on  the  light-house 
and  not  break  down.  We  have  no  right  to  permit 


it." 


"My  health,"  explained  Roddy  dryly,  "is  in  no 
danger  from  overwork.  I  am  not  employed  by  the 
company  any  longer.  If  I  like  I  can  sleep  all  day. 
I've  discharged  myself.  I've  lost  my  job." 

"You  have  quarrelled  with  your  father,"  said 
the  girl  quickly,  "on  account  of  my  father?  You 

232 


The  White  Mice 

must  not!"  she  exclaimed.  "Indeed,  we  cannot 
accept  such  a  sacrifice." 

"The  misunderstanding  with  my  father,"  Roddy 
assured  her,  "is  one  of  long  standing.  I've  never 
made  a  success  of  what  he's  given  me  to  do,  and 
this  is  only  the  last  of  a  series  of  failures.  You 
mustn't  try  to  make  me  out  an  unselfish  person. 
I  am  sacrificing  nothing.  Rather,  in  a  way,  I  have 
gained  my  independence.  At  least,  if  I  get  a  posi 
tion  now,  people  can't  say  I  obtained  it  through 
my  father's  influence.  Of  course,  it's  awkward  to 
be  poor,"  added  Roddy  dispassionately,  "because 
I  had  meant  to  ask  you  to  marry  me." 

With  an  exclamation  the  girl  partly  rose  and 
then  sank  back,  retreating  to  the  farthest  limit  of 
the  bench. 

"Mr.  Forrester!"  she  began  with  spirit. 

"I  know  what  you're  going  to  say,"  interrupted 
Roddy  confidently.  "  But  I  ought  to  tell  you  that 
that  doesn't  weigh  with  me  at  all.  1  never  could 
see,"  he  exclaimed  impatiently,  "why,  if  you  love 
a  girl,  the  fact  that  she  is  engaged  should  make 
any  difference — do  you?  It  is,  of  course,  an  obsta 
cle,  but  if  you  are  the  right  man,  and  the  other  man 
is  not,  it  certainly  is  best  for  everybody  that  you 
should  make  that  plain  to  her  before  she  marries 
the  wrong  man.  In  your  case  it  certainly  has 

233 


The  White  Mice 

made  no  difference  to  me,  and  I  mean  to  fight  foi 
you  until  you  turn  back  from  the  altar.  Of  course, 
when  Vega  told  me  you  were  engaged  to  him  it 
was  a  shock;  but  you  must  admit  I  didn't  let  it 
worry  me  much.  I  told  you  as  soon  as  I  saw  you 
that  I  loved  you 

The  girl  was  looking  at  him  so  strangely  that 
Roddy  was  forced  to  pause. 

"I  beg  your  pardon!"  he  said. 

The  eyes  of  Inez  were  searching  his  closely. 
When  she  spoke  her  voice  was  cold  and  even. 

"Then  it  was  Colonel  Vega,"  she  said,  "who 
told  you  I  was  engaged  to  him." 

"Of  course,"  said  Roddy.  "He  told  me  the 
night  we  crossed  from  Curacao." 

Deep  back  in  the  serious,  searching  eyes  Roddy 
thought  that  for  an  instant  he  detected  a  smile, 
mischievous  and  mocking;  but  as  he  leaned  for 
ward  the  eyes  again  grew  grave  and  critical.  With 
her  head  slightly  on  one  side  and  with  her  hands 
clasped  on  her  knee,  Inez  regarded  him  with 
curiosity. 

"And  that  made  no  difference  to  you?"  she 
asked. 

"Why  should  it?"  demanded  Roddy.  "A  cat 
can  look  at  a  king;  why  may  not  I  look  at  the  most 
wonderful  and  lovely " 


The  White  Mice 

In  the  same  even  tones  of  one  asking  an  abstract 
question  the  girl  interrupted  him. 

"But  you  must  have  known.,"  she  said,  "that 
I  would  not  engage  myself  to  any  man  unless  I 
loved  him.  Or  do  you  think  that,  like  the  women 
here,  I  would  marry  as  I  was  told  ?" 

Roddy,  not  at  all  certain  into  what  difficulties 
her  questions  were  leading  him,  answered  with 
caution. 

"No,"  he  replied  doubtfully,  "I  didn't  exactly 
think  that,  either." 

"Then,"  declared  the  girl,  "you  must  have 
thought,  no  matter  how  much  I  loved  the  man  to 
whom  I  was  engaged,  that  you  could  make  me 
turn  from  him." 

Roddy  held  out  his  hands  appealingly. 

"Don't  put  it  that  way!"  he  begged.  "I've 
never  thought  I  was  better  than  any  other  man. 
I  certainly  never  thought  I  was  good  enough  for 
you.  All  I'm  sure  of  is  that  no  man  on  earth  can 
care  for  you  more.  It's  the  best  thing,  the  only 
big  thing,  that  ever  came  into  my  life.  And  now 
it's  the  only  thing  left.  Yesterday  I  thought  I  was 
rich,  and  I  was  glad  because  I  had  so  much  to 
offer  you.  But  now  that  I've  no  money  at  all,  now 
that  I'm  the  Disinherited  One,  it  doesn't  seem  to 
make  any  difference.  At  least,  it  would  not  to  me, 

235 


The  White  Mice 

Because  if  I  could  make  you  care  as  I  care  for 
you,  it  wouldn't  make  any  difference  to  you, 
either.  No  one  on  earth  could  love  you  more," 
pleaded  Roddy.  "I  know  it.  I  feel  it.  There  is 
nothing  else  so  true!  Other  men  may  bring  other 
gifts,  but  'Mine  is  the  heart  at  your  feet!  He  that 
hath  more/"  he  challenged,  "'let  him  give!'  All 
I  know,"  he  whispered  fiercely,  "is,  that  I  love 
you,  I  love  you,  I  love  you!" 

He  was  so  moved,  he  felt  what  he  said  so  truly, 
it  was  for  him  such  happiness  to  speak,  that  his 
voice  shook  and,  unknown  to  him,  the  tears  stood 
in  his  eyes.  In  answer,  he  saw  the  eyes  of  the  girl 
soften,  her  lips  drew  into  a  distracting  and  lovely 
line.  Swiftly,  with  an  ineffable  and  gracious  gest 
ure,  she  stooped,  and  catching  up  one  of  his  hands 
held  it  for  an  instant  against  her  cheek,  and  then, 
springing  to  her  feet,  ran  from  him  up  the  garden 
path  to  the  house. 

Astounded,  jubilant,  in  utter  disbelief  of  his 
own  senses,  Roddy  sat  motionless.  In  dumb 
gratitude  he  gazed  about  him  at  the  beautiful 
sunlit  garden,  drinking  in  deep  draughts  of  hap 
piness. 

So  sure  was  he  that  in  his  present  state  of  mind 
he  could  not  again,  before  the  others,  face  Inez, 
that,  like  one  in  a  dream,  he  stumbled  through  the 

236 


The  White  Mice 

garden  to  the  gate  that  opened  on  the  street  and  so 
returned  home. 


That  night  McKildrick  gave  him  permission  to 
enter  the  tunnel.  The  gases  had  evaporated,  and 
into  the  entrance  the  salt  air  of  the  sea  and  the 
tropical  sun  had  fought  their  way.  The  party  con 
sisted  of  McKildrick,  Peter  and  Roddy  and,  as  the 
personal  representative  of  Inez,  Pedro,  who  arrived 
on  foot  from  the  direction  of  the  town. 

"She,  herself,"  he  confided  secretly  to  Roddy, 
"wished  to  come." 

"She  did!"  exclaimed  Roddy  joyfully.  "Why 
didn't  she?" 

"I  told  her  your  mind  would  be  filled  with 
more  important  matters,"  returned  Pedro,  seeking 
approval.  "Was  I  not  right  ?" 

Roddy,  whose  mind  was  filled  only  with  Inez 
and  who  still  felt  the  touch  of  her  hand  upon  his, 
assented  without  enthusiasm. 

McKildrick  was  for  deciding  by  lot  who  should 
explore  the  underground  passage,  but  Roddy  pro 
tested  that  that  duty  belonged  to  him  alone.  With 
a  rope  around  his  waist,  upon  which  he  was  to  pull 
if  he  needed  aid,  an  electric  torch  and  a  revolver  he 
entered  the  tunnel.  It  led  down  and  straight  be 
fore  him.  The  air  was  damp  and  chilly,  but  in 

237 


The  White  Mice 

breathing  he  now  found  no  difficulty.  Nor,  at 
first,  was  his  path  in  any  way  impeded.  His  torch 
showed  him  solid  walls,  white  and  discolored,  and 
in  places  dripping  with  water.  But  of  the  bats, 
ghosts  and  vampires,  for  which  Peter  had  cheer 
fully  prepared  him,  there  was  no  sign.  Instead, 
the  only  sounds  that  greeted  his  ears  were  the 
reverberating  echoes  of  his  own  footsteps.  He 
could  not  tell  how  far  he  had  come,  but  the  rope 
he  dragged  behind  him  was  each  moment  growing 
more  irksome,  and  from  this  he  judged  he  must 
be  far  advanced. 

The  tunnel  now  began  to  twist  and  turn  sharply, 
and  at  one  place  he  found  a  shaft  for  light  and 
ventilation  that  had  once  opened  to  the  sky.  This 
had  been  closed  with  a  gridiron  of  bars,  upon 
which  rested  loose  stones  roughly  held  together  by 
cement.  Some  of  these  had  fallen  through  the 
bars  and  blocked  his  progress,  and  to  advance  it 
was  necessary  to  remove  them.  He  stuck  his 
torch  in  a  crevice  and  untied  the  rope.  When  he 
had  cleared  his  way  he  left  the  rope  \vhere  he  had 
dropped  it.  Freed  of  this  impediment  he  was  able 
to  proceed  more  quickly,  and  he  soon  found  him 
self  in  that  part  of  the  tunnel  that  had  been  cut 
through  the  solid  rock  and  which  he  knew  lay 
under  the  waters  of  the  harbor.  The  air  here  was 

238 


The  White  Mice 

less  pure.  His  eyes  began  to  smart  and  his  ears 
to  suffer  from  the  pressure.  He  knew  he  should 
turn  back,  but  until  he  had  found  the  other  end  of 
the  tunnel  he  was  loth  to  do  so.  Against  his  bet 
ter  judgment  he  hastened  his  footsteps;  stumbling, 
slipping,  at  times  splashing  in  pools  of  water,  he 
now  ran  forward.  He  knew  that  he  was  losing 
strength,  and  that  to  regain  the  mouth  of  the 
tunnel  he  would  need  all  that  was  left  to  him. 
But  he  still  pushed  forward.  The  air  had  now 
turned  foul;  his  head  and  chest  ached,  as  when 
he  had  been  long  under  water,  and  his  legs 
were  like  lead.  He  was  just  upon  the  point  of 
abandoning  his  purpose  when  there  rose  before 
him  a  solid  wall.  He  staggered  to  it,  and,  lean 
ing  against  it,  joyfully  beat  upon  it  with  his  fists. 
He  knew  that  at  last  only  a  few  feet  separated 
him  from  the  man  he  had  set  out  to  save.  So 
great  was  his  delight  and  so  anxious  was  he  that 
Rojas  should  share  in  it,  that  without  considering 
that  no  slight  sound  could  penetrate  the  barrier, 
he  struck  three  times  upon  it  with  the  butt  of  his 
revolver,  and  then,  choking  and  gasping  like  a 
drowning  man,  staggered  back  toward  the  open 
ing.  Half-way  he  was  met  by  McKildrick  and 
Peter,  who,  finding  no  pressure  on  the  end  of  the 
rope,  had  drawn  it  to  them  and,  fearing  for  Rod- 

239 


The  White  Mice 

dy's  safety,  had  come  to  his  rescue.  They  gave 
him  an  arm  each,  and  the  fresh  air  soon  re 
vived  him.  He  told  McKildrick  what  he  had 
seen,  and  from  his  description  of  the  second 
wall  the  engineer  described  how  it  should  be 
opened. 

"  But  without  a  confederate  on  the  other  side," 
he  said,  "we  can  do  nothing." 

"Then,"  declared  Roddy,  "the  time  has  come 
to  enroll  Vicenti  in  the  Honorable  Order  of  the 
White  Mice." 

On  their  return  to  Roddy's  house  they  sent  for 
Vicenti,  and  Roddy,  having  first  forced  him  to 
subscribe  to  terrifying  oaths,  told  the  secret  of  the 
tunnel. 

Tears  of  genuine  happiness  came  to  the  eyes  of 
the  amazed  and  delighted  Venezuelan.  In  his 
excitement  he  embraced  Roddy  and  protested  that 
with  such  companions  and  in  such  a  cause  he 
would  gladly  give  his  life.  McKildrick  assured 
him  that  when  he  learned  of  the  part  he  was  to 
play  in  the  rescue  he  would  see  that  they  had 
already  taken  the  liberty  of  accepting  that  sacri 
fice.  It  was  necessary,  he  explained,  that  the  wall 
between  the  tunnel  and  the  cell  should  fall  at  the 
first  blow.  An  attempt  to  slowly  undermine  it,  or 
to  pick  it  to  pieces,  would  be  overheard  and  lead  to 

240 


The  White  Mice 

discovery.  He  therefore  intended  to  rend  the  bar 
rier  apart  by  a  single  shock  of  dynamite.  But  in 
this  also  there  was  danger;  not  to  those  in  the 
tunnel,  who,  knowing  at  what  moment  the  mine 
was  timed  to  explode,  could  retreat  to  a  safe  dis 
tance,  but  to  the  man  they  wished  to  set  free. 
The  problem,  as  McKildrick  pointed  it  out,  was 
to  make  the  charges  of  dynamite  sufficiently 
strong  to  force  a  breach  in  the  wall  through  which 
Rojas  could  escape  into  the  tunnel,  and  yet  not  so 
strong  as  to  throw  the  wall  upon  Rojas  and  any 
one  who  might  be  with  him. 

"And  I,"  cried  Vicenti,  "will  be  the  one  who 
will  be  with  him!" 

"Good!"  said  Roddy.  "That's  what  we  hoped. 
It  will  be  your  part,  then,  to  prepare  General 
Rojas,  to  keep  him  away  from  the  wall  when  we 
blow  it  open,  and  to  pass  him  through  the  breach 
to  us.  Everything  will  have  to  be  arranged  be 
forehand.  We  can't  signal  through  the  wall  or 
they  would  hear  it.  We  can  only  agree  in  advance 
as  to  the  exact  moment  it  is  to  fall,  and  then  trust 
that  nothing  will  hang  fire,  either  on  your  side  of 
the  barrier  or  on  ours." 

"  And  after  we  get  him  into  the  tunnel!"  warned 
Vicenti,  as  excited  as  though  the  fact  were  already 
accomplished,  "we  must  still  fight  for  his  life. 

241 


The  White  Mice 

The  explosion  will  bring  every  soldier  in  the  fortress 
to  the  cell,  and  they  will  follow  us." 

"There's  several  sharp  turns  in  the  tunnel,"  said 
McKildrick.  "and  behind  one  of  them  a  man  with 
a  revolver  could  hold  back  the  lot!" 

"I  speak  to  do  that!"  cried  Roddy  jealously. 
"I  speak  to  be  Horatius!" 

"'And  I  will  stand  on  thy  right  hand/"  declared 
Peter;  "'and  hold  the  bridge  with  thee.'  But  you 
know,  Roddy,"  he  added  earnestly,  "you're  an 
awful  bad  shot.  If  you  go  shooting  up  that  subway 
in  the  dark  you'll  kill  both  of  us.  You'd  better 
take  a  base-ball  bat  and  swat  them  as  they  come 
round  the  turn." 

"And  then,"  cried  Roddy,  springing  to  his  feet, 
"we'll  rush  Rojas  down  to  the  launch!  And  in 
twelve  hours  we'll  land  him  safe  in  Curacao. 
Heavens!"  he  exclaimed,  "what  a  reception  they'll 
give  him!" 

The  cold  and  acid  tones  of  McKildrick  cast  a 
sudden  chill  upon  the  enthusiasm. 

"  Before  we  design  the  triumphal  arches,"  he 
said,  "suppose  we  first  get  him  out  of  prison." 

When  at  last  the  conference  came  to  an  end  and 
Vicenti  rose  to  go,  Roddy  declared  himself  too 
excited  to  sleep  and  volunteered  to  accompany 
the  doctor  to  his  door.  But  the  cause  of  his  in- 

242 


The  White  Mice 

somnia  was  not  General  Rojas  but  the  daughter  of 
General  Rojas,  and  what  called  him  forth  into  the 
moonlit  Alameda  was  his  need  to  think  undis 
turbed  of  Inez,  and,  before  he  slept,  to  wish 
"good  night"  to  the  house  that  sheltered  her.  In 
this  vigil  Roddy  found  a  deep  and  melancholy  sat 
isfaction.  From  where  he  sat  on  a  stone  bench  in 
the  black  shadows  of  the  trees  that  arched  the 
Alameda,  Miramar,  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
street,  rose  before  him.  Its  yellow  walls  now  were 
white  and  ghostlike.  In  the  moonlight  it  glistened 
like  a  palace  of  frosted  silver.  The  palace  was 
asleep,  and  in  the  garden  not  a  leaf  stirred.  The 
harbor  breeze  had  died,  and  the  great  fronds  of  the 
palms,  like  rigid  and  glittering  sword-blades,  were 
clear-cut  against  the  stars.  The  boulevard  in 
which  he  sat  stretched  its  great  length,  empty  and 
silent.  And  Miramar  seemed  a  dream  palace  set 
in  a  dream  world,  a  world  filled  with  strange,  in 
tangible  people,  intent  on  strange,  fantastic  plots. 
To  Roddy  the  father,  who  the  day  before  had  cast 
him  off,  seemed  unreal;  the  old  man  buried  in  a 
living  sepulchre,  and  for  whom  in  a  few  hours  he 
might  lose  his  life,  was  unreal;  as  unreal  as  the 
idea  that  he  might  lose  his  life.  In  all  the  little 
world  about  him  there  was  nothing  real,  nothing 
that  counted,  nothing  living  and  actual,  save  the 

243 


The  White  Mice 

girl  asleep  in  the  palace  of  frosted  silver  and  his 
love  for  her. 

His  love  for  her  made  the  fact  that  he  was 
without  money,  and  with  no  profession,  talent  or 
bread-and-butter  knowledge  that  would  serve  to 
keep  even  himself  alive,  a  matter  of  no  consequence. 
It  made  the  thought  that  Inez  was  promised  to 
another  man  equally  unimportant.  The  only  fact 
was  his  love  for  her,  and  of  that  he  could  not  doubt 
the  outcome.  He  could  not  believe  God  had 
brought  into  his  life  such  happiness  only  to  take  it 
from  him. 

When  he  woke  the  next  morning  the  necessity  of 
seeing  Inez  again  and  at  once  was  imperative. 
Since  she  had  left  him  the  afternoon  before,  in  the 
garden  of  Mrs.  Broughton,  she  had  entirely  occu 
pied  his  thoughts.  Until  he  saw  her  he  could 
enjoy  no  peace.  Against  the  circumstances  that 
kept  them  apart  he  chafed  and  rebelled.  He  con 
sidered  it  would  be  some  comfort,  at  least,  to  re 
visit  the  spot  where  he  last  had  spoken  with  her, 
and  where  from  pity  or  a  desire  to  spare  him  she 
had  let  him  tell  her  he  loved  her. 

The  unusual  moment  at  which  he  made  his  call 
did  not  seem  to  surprise  Mrs.  Broughton.  It  was 
almost  as  though  she  were  expecting  him. 

"My  reason  for  coming  at  this  absurd  hour," 
244 


The  White  Mice 

began  Roddy  in  some  embarrassment,  "is  to 
apologize  for  running  away  yesterday  without 
wishing  you  'good-by.'  I  suddenly  remem 
bered " 

The  young  matron  stopped  him  with  a  frown. 

"I  am  disappointed,  Roddy,"  she  interrupted, 
"and  hurt.  If  you  distrust  me,  if  you  won't  con 
fide  in  an  old  friend  no  matter  how  much  she  may 
wish  to  help  you,  she  can  only— 

"Oh!"  cried  Roddy  abjectly,  casting  aside  all 
subterfuge,  "will  you  help  me?  Please,  Mrs. 
Broughton!"  he  begged.  "Dear  Mrs.  Broughton! 
Fix  it  so  I  can  see  her.  I  am  so  miserable,"  he 
pleaded,  "and  I  am  so  happy." 

With  the  joyful  light  of  the  match-maker  who 
sees  her  plans  proceeding  to  success  Mrs.  Brough 
ton  beamed  upon  him. 

"  By  a  strange  coincidence,"  she  began,  in  tones 
tantalizingly  slow,  "a  usually  proud  and  haughty 
young  person  condescended  to  come  to  me  this 
morning  for  advice.  She  doesn't  distrust  me.  She 
believes " 

"And  what  did  you  advise?"  begged  Roddy. 

"I  advised  her  to  wait  in  the  garden  until  I 
sent  a  note  telling  you " 

Already  Roddy  was  at  the  door. 

"What  part  of  the  garden?"  he  shouted. 
245 


The  White  Mice 

t 

"Never  mind!"  he  cried  in  alarm,  lest  Mrs. 
Broughton  should  volunteer  to  guide  him.  "  Don't 
bother  to  show  me;  I  can  find  her." 

Mrs.  Broughton  went  into  the  Consulate  and 
complained  to  her  husband. 

"It  makes  Roddy  so  selfish,"  she  protested. 

"What  did  you  think  he'd  do?"  demanded 
Broughton — "  ask  you  to  go  with  him  ?  You  forget 
Roddy  comes  from  your  own  happy  country  where 
no  chaperon  is  expected  to  do  her  duty." 

Inez  was  standing  by  the  bench  at  which  they 
had  parted.  Above  her  and  around  her  the 
feathery  leaves  of  the  bamboo  trees  whispered  and 
shivered,  shading  her  in  a  canopy  of  delicate  sun- 
streaked  green. 

Like  a  man  who  gains  the  solid  earth  after  a 
strenuous  struggle  in  the  waves,  Roddy  gave  a  deep 
sigh  of  content. 

"It  has  been  so  hard,"  he  said  simply.  "It's 
been  so  long!  I  have  been  parched,  starved  for 
a  sight  of  you!" 

At  other  times  when  they  had  been  together 
the  eyes  of  the  girl  always  looked  into  his  steadily 
or  curiously.  Now  they  were  elusive,  shy,  glowing 
with  a  new  radiance.  They  avoided  him  and 
smiled  upon  the  beautiful  sun-steeped  garden  as 
though  sharing  some  hidden  and  happy  secret. 

246 


The  White  Mice 

g 

"I  sent  for  you,"  she  began,  "to  tell  you " 

Roddy  shook  his  head  emphatically. 

"You  didn't  send  for  me,"  he  said.  "I  came  of 
my  own  accord.  Last  night  you  didn't  send  for 
me  either,  but  all  through  the  night  I  sat  outside 
your  house.  This  morning  I  am  here  because 
this  is  where  I  last  saw  you.  And  I  find  you.  It's 
a  sign!  I  thought  my  heart  Fed  me  here,  but  I 
think  now  it  was  the  gods !  They  are  on  my  side. 
They  fight  for  me.  Why  do  you  try  to  fight 
against  the  gods  ?" 

His  voice  was  very  low,  very  tender.  He  bent 
forward,  and  the  girl,  still  avoiding  his  eyes,  sank 
back  upon  the  bench,  and  Roddy,  seating  himself, 
leaned  over  her. 

"Remember!"  he  whispered,  "though  the  mills 
of  the  gods  grind  slow,  they  grind  exceeding  fine. 
The  day  is  coming  when  you  will  never  have  to 
send  for  me  again.  You  cannot  escape  it,  or  me. 
I  am  sorry — but  I  have  come  into  your  life — to 
stay!" 

The  girl  breathed  quickly,  and,  as  though  cast 
ing  off  the  spell  of  his  voice  and  the  feeling  it  car 
ried  with  it,  suddenly  threw  out  her  hands  and, 
turning  quickly,  faced  him. 

"I  must  tell  you  what  makes  it  so  hard,"  she 
said,  "why  I  must  not  listen  to  you.  It  is  this. 

247 


The  White  Mice 

I  must  not  think  of  myself.  I  must  not  think 
of  you,  except — "  She  paused,  and  then  added, 
slowly  and  defiantly — "  as  the  one  person  who  can 
save  my  father!  Do  you  understand  ?  Do  I  make 
it  plain  ?  I  am  making  use  of  you.  I  have  led  you 
on.  I  have  kept  you  near  me,  for  his  sake.  I  am 
sacrificing  you — for  him!"  Her  voice  was  trem 
bling,  miserable.  With  her  clenched  fist  she  beat 
upon  her  knee.  "I  had  to  tell  you,"  she  mur 
mured,  "I  had  to  tell  you!  I  had  to  remember," 
she  protested  fiercely,  "that  I  am  nothing,  that  I 
have  no  life  of  my  own.  Until  he  is  free  I  do  not 
exist.  I  am  not  a  girl  to  love,  or  to  listen  to  love. 
I  can  be  only  the  daughter  of  the  dear,  great  soul 
who,  without  you,  may  die.  And  all  you  can  be 
to  me  is  the  man  who  can  save  him!"  She  raised 
her  eyes,  unhappily,  appealingly.  "Even  if  you 
despised  me,"  she  whispered,  "  I  had  to  tell  you." 

Roddy's  eyes  were  as  miserable  as  her  own. 
He  reached  out  his  arms  to  her,  as  though  he 
would  shelter  her  from  herself  and  from  the  whole 
world. 

"But,  my  dear  one,  my  wonderful  one,"  he 
cried,  "can't  you  see  that's  only  morbid,  only 
wicked  ?  You  led  me  on  ?"  he  cried.  He  laughed 
jubilantly,  happily.  "Did  I  need  leading?  Didn't 
1  love  you  from  the  first  moment  you  rode  toward 

248 


The  White  Mice 

me  out  of  the  sunrise,  bringing  the  day  with  you  ? 
How  could  I  help  but  love  you  ?  You've  done 
nothing  to  make  me  love  you;  you've  only  been 
the  most  glorious,  the  most  beautiful  woman 

At  a  sign  from  the  girl  he  stopped  obediently. 

"Can't  I  love  you,"  he  demanded,  "and  work 
for  your  father  the  more,  because  I  love  you  ?" 

The  girl  sat  suddenly  erect  and  clasped  her 
hands.  Her  shoulders  moved  slightly,  as  though 
with  sudden  cold. 

"It  frightens  me!"  she  whispered.  "Before 
you  came  I  thought  of  him  always,  and  nothing 
else,  only  of  him.  I  dreamed  of  him;  terrible, 
haunting  dreams.  Each  day  I  prayed  and  worked 
for  him.  And  then — "  she  paused,  and,  as 
though  seeking  help  to  continue,  looked  appeal- 
ingly  into  Roddy's  eyes.  Her  own  were  uncertain, 
troubled,  filled  with  distress.  "And  then  you 
came,"  she  said.  "And  now  I  find  I  think  of  you. 
It  is  disloyal,  wicked!  I  forget  how  much  he  suf 
fers.  I  forget  even  how  much  I  love  him.  I  want 
only  to  listen  to  you.  All  the  sorrow,  all  the  misery 
of  these  last  two  years  seems  to  slip  from  me.  I 
find  it  doesn't  matter,  that  nothing  matters.  I  am 
only  happy,  foolishly,  without  reason,  happy!" 

In  his  gratitude,  in  his  own  happiness,  Roddy 
reached  out  his  hand.  But  Inez  drew  her  own 

249 


The  White  Mice 

. 

away,  and  with  her  chin  resting  upon  it,  and  with 
her  elbow  on  her  knee,  sat  staring  ahead  of  her. 

"And  I  find  this!"  she  whispered  guiltily,  like 
one  at  confession.  "  I  find  I  hate  to  spare  you  for 
this  work.  Three  weeks  ago,  when  you  left  Cura 
cao,  1  thought  a  man  could  not  risk  his  life  in  a 
nobler  cause  than  the  one  for  which  you  were 
risking  yours.  It  seemed  to  me  a  duty — a  splen 
did  duty.  But  now,  I  am  afraid — for  you.  I  knew 
it  first  the  night  you  swam  from  me  across  the 
harbor,  and  I  followed  you  with  my  eyes,  watching 
and  waiting  for  you  to  sink  and  die.  And  I  prayed 
for  you  then;  and  suddenly,  as  I  prayed,  I  found 
it  was  not  you  for  whom  I  was  praying,  but  for 
myself,  for  my  own  happiness.  That  I  wanted 
you  to  live — for  me!" 

The  girl  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  Roddy  rose 
with  her,  and  they  stood  facing  each  other. 

"Now  you  know,"  she  whispered.  "I  had  to 
tell  you.  I  had  to  confess  to  you  that  I  tried  to 
make  you  care  for  me,  hoping  you  would  do  what 
I  wished.  I  did  not  mean  to  tell  you  that,  instead, 
I  learned  to  care  for  you.  If  you  despise  me  I  will 
understand;  if  you  can  still  love  me— 

"//  I  love  you?"  cried  Roddy.  "I  love  you 
so " 

For  an  instant,  as  though  to  shut  out  the  look  in 
250 


The  White  Mice 

his  face,  the  eyes  of  the  girl  closed.  She  threw  out 
her  hands  quickly  to  stop  him. 

"Then,"  she  begged,  "help  me  not  to  think  of 
you.  Not  to  think  of  myself.  We  are  young.  We 
are  children.  He  is  old :  every  moment  counts  for 
him.  If  this  is  the  big  thing  in  our  lives  we  hope  it 
is,  it  will  last  always !  But  with  him  each  moment 
may  mean  the  end;  a  horrible  end,  alone,  among 
enemies,  in  a  prison.  You  must  give  me  your 
word — you  must  promise  me  not  to  tempt  me  to 
think  of  you.  You  are  very  generous,  very  strong. 
Help  me  to  do  this.  Promise  me  until  he  is  free 
you  will  not  tell  me  you  care  for  me,  never  again, 
until  he  is  free.  Or  else" — her  tone  was  firm, 
though  her  voice  had  sunk  to  a  whisper.  She 
drew  back,  and  regarded  him  unhappily,  shaking 
her  head — "or  else,  I  must  not  see  you  again." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence,  and  then  Roddy 
gave  an  exclamation  of  impatience,  of  protest. 

"If  you  ask  it!"  he  said,  "I  promise.  How 
.soon  am  I  to  see  you  again  ?" 

Inez  moved  from  him  toward  the  house.  At  a 
little  distance  she  stopped  and  regarded  him  in 
silence.  Her  eyes  were  wistful,  reproachful. 

"It  was  so  hard  to  ask,"  she  murmured,  "and 
you've  promised  so  easily!" 

"How  dare  you!"  cried  Roddy.  "How  dare 
251 


The  White  Mice 

you!  Easy!"  He  rushed  on  wildly,  "When  1 
want  to  cry  out  to  the  whole  world  that  I  love  you, 
when  I  feel  that  every  stranger  sees  it,  when  my 
heart  beats,  'Inez,  Inez,  Inez,'  so  that  I  know  the 
people  in  the  street  can  hear  it  too.  If  I  hadn't 
promised  you  to  keep  silent,"  he  cried  indignantly, 
"because  you  asked  it,  I'd  tell  you  now  that  no 
other  woman  in  all  the  world  is  loved  as  I  love 
you!  Easy  to  be  silent!"  he  demanded,  "when 
every  drop  of  blood  calls  to  you,  when  I  breathe 
only  when  you  breathe " 

"Stop!"  cried  the  girl.  For  an  instant  she  cov 
ered  her  face  with  her  hands.  When  she  lowered 
them  her  eyes  were  shining,  radiant,  laughing  with 
happiness. 

"I  am  so  sorry!"  she  whispered  penitently.  "It 
was  wicked.  But,"  she  pleaded,  "I  did  so  want  to 
hear  you  say  it  just  once  more!" 

She  was  very  near  to  him.  Her  eyes  were  look 
ing  into  his.  What  she  saw  in  them  caused  her  to 
close  her  own  quickly.  Feeling  blindly  with  out 
stretched  hands,  she  let  herself  sway  toward  him, 
and  in  an  instant  she  was  wrapped  in  his  arms 
with  his  breathless  kisses  covering  her  lips  and 
cheeks. 

For  Roddy  the  earth  ceased  revolving,  he  was 
lifted  above  it  and  heard  the  music  of  the  stars. 


The  White  Mice 

He  was  crowned,  exalted,  deified.  Then  the  girl 
who  had  done  this  tore  herself  away  and  ran  from 
him  through  the  garden. 

Neither  Inez  nor  Roddy  was  in  a  mood  to 
exchange  polite  phrases  in  the  presence  of  Mrs. 
Broughton,  and  they  at  once  separated,  each  in 
a  different  direction,  Roddy  returning  to  his  home. 
There  he  found  Sam  Caldwell.  He  was  in  no  better 
frame  of  mind  to  receive  him,  but  Caldwell  had 
been  two  hours  waiting  and  was  angry  and  insistent. 

"  At  last ! "  he  exclaimed.  "  I  have  been  here  since 
eleven.  Don't  tell  me,"  he  snapped,  "that  youVe 
been  spearing  eels,  because  I  won't  believe  it." 

"What  can  I  tell  you,"  asked  Roddy  pleasantly, 
"that  you  will  believe  ?" 

That  Caldwell  had  sought  him  out  and  had 
thought  it  worth  his  while  to  wait  two  hours  for  an 
interview  seemed  to  Roddy  to  show  that  in  the 
camp  of  his  enemies  matters  were  not  moving 
smoothly,  and  that,  in  their  opinion,  he  was  of 
more  interest  than  they  cared  to  admit. 

Caldwell  began  with  an  uneasy  assumption  of 
good-fellowship. 

"I  have  come  under  a  flag  of  truce,"  he  said 
grinning.  "We  want  to  have  a  talk  and  see  if  we 
can't  get  together." 

"Who  are  'we'?"  asked  Roddy, 
253 


The  White  Mice 

"Vega,  myself,  and  Sefiora  Rojas." 

"Senora  Rojas!"  exclaimed  RodJy  gravely. 
"Are  you  not  mistaken  ?" 

"She  sent  me  here,"  replied  Caldwell.  "These 
are  my  credentials."  With  a  flourish  and  a  bow 
of  marked  ceremony,  he  handed  Roddy  a  letter. 

It  came  from  Miramar,  and  briefly  requested 
that  Mr.  Forrester  would  do  the  Senora  Rojas  the 
honor  to  immediately  call  upon  her. 

Roddy  caught  up  his  hat.  The  prospect  of  a 
visit  to  the  home  of  Inez  enchanted  him,  and  he 
was  as  greatly  puzzled  as  to  what  such  a  visit 
might  bring  forth. 

"We  will  go  at  once!"  he  said. 

But  Caldwell  hung  back. 

"I'd  rather  explain  it  first,"  he  said. 

Already  Roddy  resented  the  fact  that  Caldwell 
was  serving  as  the  ambassador  of  Madame  Rojas, 
and  there  was,  besides,  in  his  manner  something 
which  showed  that  in  that  service  he  was  neither 
zealous  nor  loyal. 

"Possibly  Senora  Rojas  can  do  that  herself," 
said  Roddy. 

"No,  she  can't!"  returned  Caldwell  sharply, 
"because  she  doesn't  know,  and  we  don't  mean 
to  tell  her.  But  I  am  going  to  tell  you." 

"Better  not!"  warned  Roddy. 
254 


The  White  Mice 

"I'll  take  the  chance,"  said  Caldwell.  His 
manner  was  conciliating,  propitiatory.  "I'll  take 
the  chance,"  he  protested,  "that  when  you  learn 
the  truth  you  won't  round  on  your  own  father. 
It  isn't  natural,  it  isn't  human!" 

"Caldwell  on  the  Human  Emotions!"  exclaimed 
Roddy,  grinning. 

But  Caldwell  was  too  truly  in  earnest  to  be 
interrupted. 

"Your  father's  spending  two  millions  to  make 
Vega  President,"  he  went  on  rapidly.  "  We've 
got  to  have  him.  We  need  him  in  our  business.. 
You  think  Rojas  would  make  a  better  President. 
Maybe  he  would.  But  not  for  us.  He's  too  old- 
fashioned.  He's- 

"Too  honest?"  suggested  Roddy. 

"Too  honest,"  assented  Caldwell  promptly. 
"And  there's  another  slight  objection  to  him. 
He's  in  jail.  And  you,"  Caldwell  cried,  raising  his 
finger  and  shaking  it  in  Roddy's  face,  "can't  get 
him  out.  We  can't  take  San  Carlos,  and  neither 
can  you.  They  have  guns  there  that  in  twenty 
minutes  could  smash  this  town  into  a  dust-heap. 
So  you  see,  what  you  hope  to  do  is  impossible,, 
absurd!  Now,"  he  urged  eagerly,  "why  don't 
you  give  up  butting  your  head  into  a  stone  wali> 
and  help  your  father  and  me  ?" 

255 


The  White  Mice 

He  stopped,  and  in  evident  anxiety  waited  for 
the  other  to  speak,  but  Roddy  only  regarded  him 
steadily.  After  a  pause  Roddy  said:  "Pm  not 
talking.  You're  the  one  that's  talking.  And,"  he 
added,  "you're  talking  too  much,  too!" 

"I'll  risk  it!"  cried  Caldwell  stoutly.  "I've 
never  gone  after  a  man  of  sense  yet  that  I  couldn't 
make  him  see  things  my  way.  Now,  Senora 
Rojas,"  he  went  on,  "only  wants  one  thing.  She 
wants  to  get  her  husband  out  of  prison.  She 
thinks  Vega  can  do  that,  that  he  means  to  do  it, 
that  I  mean  to  do  it.  Well — we  dont" 

Roddy's  eyes  half  closed,  the  lines  around  his 
mouth  grew  taut,  and  when  he  spoke  his  voice 
was  harsh  and  had  sunk  to  a  whisper. 

"I  tell  you,"  he  said,  "you're  talking  too 
much!" 

But  neither  in  Roddy's  face  nor  voice  did  Cald 
well  read  the  danger  signals. 

"  It  doesn't  suit  our  book,"  he  swept  on,  "to  get 
him  out.  Until  Vega  is  President  he  must  stay 
where  he  is.  But  his  wife  must  not  know  that. 
She  believes  in  us.  She  thinks  the  Rojas  crowd 
only  interferes  with  us,  and  she  is  sending  for  you 
to  ask  you  to  urge  the  Rojas  faction  to  give  us  a 
free  hand." 

"  I  see,"  said  Roddy;  "  and  while  Vega  is  trying 
256 


The  White  Mice 

to  be  President,  Rojas  may  die.    Have  you  thought 
of  that?" 

"Can  we  help  it?"  protested  Caldwell.  "Did 
we  put  him  in  prison  ?  We'll  have  troub!  3  enough 
keeping  ourselves  out  of  San  Carlos.  Well,"  he 
demanded,  "what  are  you  going  to  do  ?" 

"At  present,"  said  Roddy,  "I'm  going  to  call  on 
Madame  Rojas." 

On  their  walk  to  Miramar,  Caldwell  found  it 
impossible  to  break  down  Roddy's  barrier  of  good 
nature.  He  threatened,  he  bullied,  he  held  forth 
open  bribes;  but  Roddy  either  remained  silent  or 
laughed.  Caldwell  began  to  fear  that  in  trying  to 
come  to  terms  with  the  enemy  he  had  made  a  mis 
take.  But  still  he  hoped  that  in  his  obstinacy 
Roddy  was  merely  stupid;  he  believed  that  in 
treating  him  as  a  factor  in  affairs  they  had  made 
him  vainglorious,  arrogant.  He  was  sure  that  if 
he  could  convince  him  of  the  utter  impossibility  of 
taking  San  Carlos  by  assault  he  would  abandon 
the  Rojas  crowd  and  come  over  to  Vega.  So  he 
enlarged  upon  the  difficulty  of  that  enterprise, 
using  it  as  his  argument  in  chief.  Roddy,  in  his 
turn,  pretended  he  believed  San  Carlos  would  fall 
at  the  first  shot,  and,  as  he  intended,  persuaded 
Caldwell  that  an  attack  upon  the  prison  was  the 
fixed  purpose  of  the  Rojas  faction, 

257 


The  White  Mice 

Roddy,  who  as  a  sentimental  burglar  had  so 
often  forced  his  way  into  the  grounds  of  Miramar, 
found  a  certain  satisfaction  in  at  last  entering  it  by 
the  front  door,  and  by  invitation.  His  coming 
was  obviously  expected,  and  his  arrival  threw  the 
many  servants  into  a  state  of  considerable  excite 
ment.  Escorted  by  the  major-domo,  he  was  led 
to  the  drawing-room  where  Madame  Rojas  was 
waiting  to  receive  him.  As  he  entered,  Inez  and 
her  sister,  with  Vega  and  General  Pulido  and 
Colonel  Ramon,  came  in  from  the  terrace,  and 
Caldwell  followed  from  the  hall. 

With  the  manner  of  one  who  considered  himself 
already  a  member  of  the  household,  Vega  wel 
comed  Roddy,  but  without  cordiality,  and  with 
condescension.  To  Inez,  although  the  sight  of  her 
caused  him  great  embarrassment,  Roddy  made  a 
formal  bow,  to  which  she  replied  with  one  as  for 
mal.  Senora  Rojas,  having  ordered  the  servants 
to  close  the  doors  and  the  windows  to  the  terrace, 
asked  Roddy  to  be  seated,  and  then  placed  herself 
in  a  chair  that  faced  his.  The  others  grouped 
themselves  behind  her.  Roddy  felt  as  though  the 
odds  were  hardly  fair.  With  the  exception  of  Inez, 
who  understood  that  any  sign  she  might  make  in 
his  favor  would  do  him  harm,  all  those  present 
were  opposed  to  him.  This  fact  caused  Roddy  to 

258 


The  White  Mice 

gaze  about  him  in  pleasurable  excitement  and 
smile  expectantly.  He  failed  to  see  how  the  inter 
view  could  lead  to  any  definite  result.  Already  he 
had  learned  from  Caldwell  more  than  he  had  sus 
pected,  and  all  that  he  needed  to  know,  and,  as  he 
was  determined  on  account  of  her  blind  faith  in 
Vega  to  confide  nothing  to  Senora  Rojas,  he  saw 
no  outcome  to  the  visit  as  important  as  that  it  had 
so  soon  brought  him  again  into  the  presence  of  Inez. 
"Mr.  Forrester,"  began  Senora  Rojas,  "I  have 
asked  you  to  call  on  me  to-day  at  the  suggestion  of 
these  gentlemen.  They  believe  that  where  they 
might  fail,  an  appeal  from  me  would  be  effective. 
I  am  going  to  speak  to  you  quite  frankly  and 
openly;  but  when  you  remember  I  am  pleading 
for  the  life  of  my  husband  you  will  not  take  offense. 
With  no  doubt  the  best  of  motives,  you  have  allied 
yourself  with  what  is  known  as  the  Rojas  faction. 
Its  object  is  to  overthrow  the  President  and  to 
place  my  husband  at  Miraflores.  To  me,  the  wife 
of  General  Rojas,  such  an  undertaking  is  intol 
erable.  All  I  desire,  all  I  am  sure  he  desires,  is  his 
freedom.  There  are  those,  powerful  and  well 
equipped,  who  can  secure  it.  They  do  not  belong 
to  the  so-called  Rojas  faction.  You,  we  under 
stand,  have  much  influence  in  its  counsels.  We 
know  that  to  carry  out  its  plans  you  have  quarrelled 

259 


The  White  Mice 

with  your  father,  resigned  from  his  company.  If 
I  venture  to  refer  to  your  private  affairs,  it  is  only 
because  I  understand  you  yourself  have  spoken  of 
them  publicly,  and  because  they  show  me  that  in 
your  allegiance,  in  your  mistaken  allegiance  to  my 
husband,  you  are  in  earnest.  But,  in  spite  of  your 
wish  to  serve  him,  I  have  asked  you  here  to-day  to 
beg  you  and  your  friends  to  relinquish  your  pur 
pose.  His  wife  and  his  children  feel  that  the 
safety  of  General  Rojas  is  in  other  hands,  in  the 
hands  of  those  who  have  his  fullest  confidence  and 
mine."  In  her  distress,  Senora  Rojas  leaned  for 
ward.  "I  beg  of  you,"  she  exclaimed,  "do  as  I 
ask.  Leave  my  husband  to  me  and  to  his  friends. 
What  you  would  do  can  only  interfere  with  them. 
And  it  may  lead  directly  to  his  death." 

She  paused,  and,  with  her  eyes  fixed  eagerly  ofc 
Roddy's  face,  waited  for  his  answer.  The  men 
standing  in  a  group  behind  her  nodded  approv 
ingly.  Then  they  also  turned  to  Roddy  and  re 
garded  him  sternly,  as  though  challenging  him  to 
resist  such  an  appeal.  Roddy  found  his  position 
one  of  extreme  embarrassment.  He  now  saw 
why  Senora  Rojas  had  received  him  in  the  pres 
ence  of  so  large  an  audience.  It  was  to  render 
a  refusal  to  grant  her  request  the  more  difficult. 
In  the  group  drawn  up  before  him  he  saw  that 

260 


The  White  Mice 

each  represented  a  certain  interest,  each  held  a 
distinctive  value.  The  two  daughters  were  in 
tended  to  remind  him  that  it  was  against  a  united 
family  he  was  acting;  Caldwell  was  to  recall  to 
him  that  he  was  opposing  the  wishes  of  his  father, 
and  Vega  and  the  two  officers  naturally  suggested 
to  whom  Senora  Rojas  referred  when  she  said  her 
interests  were  in  the  hands  of  powerful  and  well- 
equipped  friends.  Should  he  tell  the  truth  and  say 
that  of  the  plans  of  the  Rojas  faction  he  knew 
little  or  nothing,  Roddy  was  sure  he  would  not  be 
believed.  He  was  equally  certain  that  if,  in  pri 
vate,  he  confided  his  own  plan  to  Senora  Rojas 
and  told  her  that  within  the  next  forty-eight  hours 
she  might  hope  to  see  her  husband,  she  would  at 
once  acquaint  Vega  and  Caldwell  with  that  fact. 
And,  after  the  confidence  made  him  by  Caldwell, 
what  he  and  Vega  might  not  do  to  keep  Rojas  ofF 
the  boards,  he  did  not  care  to  think.  He  certainly 
did  not  deem  it  safe  to  test  their  loyalty.  He, 
therefore,  determined  that  as  it  was  impossible  to 
tell  his  opponents  the  truth,  he  had  better  let  them 
continue  to  believe  he  was  a  leader  in  the  Rojas 
party,  and  that,  with  it,  his  only  purpose  was  an 
open  attack  upon  the  fortress. 

"I   need   not   say,"   protested    Roddy  gravely, 
"that  I  am  greatly  flattered  by  your  confidence. 

261 


The  White  Mice 

It  makes  me  very  sorry  that  I  cannot  be  equally 
frank.  But  I  am  only  a  very  unimportant  member 
of  the  great  organization  that  has  for  its  leader 
General  Rojas " 

"And  I,"  interrupted  Senora  Rojas,  "am  the 
wife  of  that  leader.  Are  my  wishes  of  no  weight  ? " 

"I  fear,  madame,"  begged  Roddy,  in  deprecatory 
tones,  "that  to  millions  of  Venezuelans  General 
Rojas  is  considered  less  as  the  husband  than  as 
the  only  man  who  can  free  this  country  from  the 
hands  of  a  tyrant." 

At  this  further  sign  of  what  seemed  fatuous 
obstinacy,  Senora  Rojas  lost  patience. 

"A  tyrant!"  she  exclaimed  quickly.  "I  must 
protest,  Mr.  Forrester,  that  the  word  comes 
strangely  from  one  who  has  denounced  my  hus 
band  as  a  traitor." 

The  attack  confused  Roddy,  and  to  add  to  his 
discomfort  it  was  greeted  by  the  men  in  the  rear  of 
Senora  Rojas  with  a  chorus  of  approving  exclama 
tions.  Roddy  raised  his  eyes  and  regarded  them 
gravely.  In  a  tone  of  stern  rebuke  Senora  Rojas 
continued: 

"We  have  been  frank  and  honest,"  she  said, 
"but  when  we  cannot  tell  whether  the  one  with 
whom  we  treat  runs  with  the  hare  or  the  hounds, 
it  is  difficult." 

262 


The  White  Mice 

Again  from  the  men  came  the  murmur  of 
approval,  and  Roddy,  still  regarding  them,  to 
prevent  himself  from  speaking  pressed  his  lips 
tightly  together. 

Knowing  how  near  Senora  Rojas  might  be  to 
attaining  the  one  thing  she  most  desired,  his  regret 
at  her  distress  was  genuine,  and  that,  in  her 
ignorance,  she  should  find  him  a  most  objection 
able  young  man  he  could  well  understand.  The 
fact  aroused  in  him  no  resentment.  But  to  his 
secret  amusement  he  found  that  the  thought  upper 
most  in  his  mind  was  one  of  congratulation  that 
Inez  Rojas  was  more  the  child  of  her  Venezuelan 
father  than  of  her  American  mother.  Even  while 
he  deeply  sympathized  with  Senora  Rojas,  viewed 
as  a  future  mother-in-law,  she  filled  him  with 
trepidation.  But  from  any  point  he  could  see  no 
health  in  continuing  the  scene,  and  he  rose  and 
bowed. 

"I  am  sorry,"  he  said,  "but  I  cannot  find  that 
any  good  can  come  of  this.  I  assure  you,  you  are 
mistaken  in  thinking  I  am  of  any  importance,  or 
that  I  carry  any  weight  with  the  Rojas  party.  Be 
lieve  me,  I  do  not.  I  am  doing  nothing,"  he  pro 
tested  gently,  "that  can  bring  harm  to  your  hus 
band.  No  one  outside  of  your  own  family  can 
wish  more  sincerely  for  his  safety." 

263 


The  White  Mice 

The  chorus  of  men  interrupted  him  with  an 
incredulous  laugh  and  murmurs  of  disbelief. 

Roddy  turned  upon  them  sharply. 

"We  can  dispense  with  the  claque,"  he  said. 
"My  interview  is  with  Madame  Rojas.  If  you 
gentlemen  have  anything  to  discuss  with  me  later 
you  will  come  out  of  it  much  better  if  that  lady  is 
not  present.  If  you  don't  know  what  I  mean,"  he 
added  significantly,  "Caldwell  can  tell  you." 

Senora  Rojas  had  no  interest  in  any  annoyance 
Roddy  might  feel  toward  her  guests.  She  recog 
nized  only  that  he  was  leaving  her.  She  made  a 
final  appeal.  Rising  to  her  feet,  she  exclaimed 
indignantly: 

"I  refuse  to  believe  that  against  the  wishes  of 
myself  and  my  family  you  will  persist  in  this.  It 
is  incredible!  I  can  no  longer  be  content  only  to 
ask  you  not  to  interfere — I  forbid  ?t." 

She  advanced  toward  him,  her  eyes  flashing  with 
angry  tears.  Roddy,  in  his  sympathy  with  her 
distress,  would  have  been  glad,  with  a  word,  to 
end  it,  but  he  felt  he  could  not  trust  to  her  discre 
tion.  Her  next  speech  showed  him  that  his  in 
stinct  was  correct.  Accepting  his  silence  as  a  re 
fusal,  she  turned  with  an  exclamation  to  Pino 
Vega. 

"If  you  will  not  listen  to  a  woman,"  she  pro- 
264 


The  White  Mice 

tested,  "you  may  listen  to  a  man."    With  a  gesture 
she  signified  Vega.    He  stepped  eagerly  forward. 

"I  am  at  your  service,"  he  said. 

"Speak  to  him,  '  Senora  Rojas  commanded. 
"Tell  him!  Forbid  him  to  continue." 

Roddy  received  the  introduction  of  Vega  into 
the  scene  with  mixed  feelings.  To  the  best  of  his 
ability  he  was  trying  to  avoid  a  quarrel,  and  in  his 
fuller  knowledge  of  the  situation  he  knew  that  for 
Senora  Rojas  it  would  be  best  if  she  had  followed 
his  wishes,  and  had  brought  the  interview  to  an 
end.  That  Vega,  who  was  planning  treachery  to 
Rojas,  should  confront  him  as  the  champion  of 
Rojas,  stirred  all  the  combativeness  in  Roddy  that 
he  was  endeavoring  to  subdue.  When  Vega  turned 
to  him  he  welcomed  that  gentleman  with  a  frown. 

"As  the  son  of  this  house,"  Vega  began  dra 
matically,  "as  the  representative,  in  his  absence, 
of  General  Rojas,  I  forbid  you  to  meddle  further 
in  this  affair." 

The  demand  was  unfortunately  worded.  A 
smile  came  to  Roddy's  eyes,  and  the  color  in  his 
cheeks  deepened.  He  turned  inquiringly  to 
Senora  Rojas. 

"The  son  of  this  house,"  he  repeated.  "The 
gentleman  expresses  himself  awkwardly.  What 
does  he  mean  ?" 

265 


The  White  Mice 

Since  Inez  had  entered  the  room  Roddy  had  not 
once  permitted  himself  to  look  toward  her.  Now 
he  heard  from  where  she  stood  a  quick  movement 
and  an  exclamation. 

For  an  instant,  a  chill  of  doubt  held  him  silent. 
Within  the  very  hour,  she  had  told  him  that  to 
keep  him  loyal  to  her  father  she  had  traded  on  his 
interest  in  her.  Had  she,  for  the  same  purpose 
and  in  the  same  way,  encouraged  Vega  ?  To 
Roddy,  she  had  confessed  what  she  had  done,  and 
that  she  loved  him.  With  that  he  was  grandly 
content.  But  was  she  still  hoping  by  her  promise 
of  marriage  to  Vega  to  hold  him  in  allegiance,  not 
to  herself,  but  to  her  father  ?  Was  her  exclamation 
one  of  warning  ?  Had  he,  by  his  question,  pre 
cipitated  some  explanation  that  Inez  wished  to 
avoid  ?  He  cast  toward  her  a  glance  of  anxious 
inquiry.  To  his  relief,  Inez  reassured  him  with 
a  nod,  and  a  smile  of  trust  and  understanding. 

The  exchange  of  glances  was  lost  neither  upon 
Vega  nor  upon  Senora  Rojas.  In  turn,  they 
looked  at  each  other,  their  eyes  filled  with  angry 
suspicion. 

What  she  had  witnessed  caused  Senora  Rojas 
to  speak  with  added  asperity. 

"Colonel  Vega  has  my  authority  for  what  he 
says,"  she  exclaimed.  "He  is  the  son  of  this 

266 


The  White  Mice 

house.  He  is  the  future  husband  of  my  daughter 
Inez." 

The  exclamation  that  now  came  from  Inez  was 
one  of  such  surprise  and  protest  that  every  one 
turned  toward  her. 

The  girl  pushed  from  her  the  chair  on  which 
she  had  been  leaning  and  walked  toward  her 
mother.  Her  eyes  were  flashing,  but  her  manner 
was  courteous  and  contained. 

"Why  do  you  say  that?"  she  asked  quietly. 
"Has  Colonel  Vega  told  you  that,  as  he  has  told 
others  ?  Because  it  is  not  true!" 

Senora  Rojas,  amazed  and  indignant,  stared  at 
her  daughter  as  though  she  doubted  she  had 
heard  her. 

"Inez!"  she  exclaimed. 

"It  must  be  set  right,"  said  the  girl  "Colonel 
Vega  presumes  too  far  on  the  services  he  has 
shown  my  father.  I  am  not  going  to  marry  him. 
I  have  told  him  so  repeatedly.  He  is  deceiving  you 
in  this,  as  he  is  deceiving  you  in  matters  more  im 
portant.  He  is  neither  the  son  of  this  house  nor 
the  friend  of  this  house.  And  it  is  time  that  he 
understood  that  we  know  it!" 

In  her  distress,  Seonra  Rojas  turned  instinctively 
to  Vega. 

"Pino!"  she  exclaimed.  "You  told  me!  You 
267 


The  White  Mice 

told  me  it  was  her  secret,  that  she  wished  to  keep 
it  even  from  her  mother,  but  that  you  thought  it 
your  duty  to  tell  me.  Why?"  she  demanded. 
"Why?" 

Vega,  his  eyes  flaming,  in  a  rage  of  mortification 
and  wounded  vanity  threw  out  his  arms. 

"My  dear  lady!"  he  cried,  "it  was  because  I 
hoped!  I  still  hope,"  he  protested.  "Inez  hat- 
been  poisoned  by  this  man!"  He  pointed  with  a 
shaking  finger  at  Roddy.  "He  has  filled  her  mind 
with  tales  against  me."  He  turned  to  Inez.  "Is 
it  not  true  ?"  he  challenged. 

Inez  regarded  him  coldly,  disdainfully. 

"No,  it  is  not  true,"  she  said.  "It  is  the  last 
thing  he  would  do.  Because,  until  this  moment, 
Mr.  Forrester  thought  that  what  you  told  him  was 
a  fact."  She  raised  her  voice.  "And  he  is  incapa 
ble  of  speaking  ill  of  a  man — "  she  hesitated,  and 
then,  smiling  slightly  as  though  in  enjoyment  of 
the  mischief  she  were  making,  added,  "he  knew 
was  his  unsuccessful  rival." 

Furious,  with  a  triumphant  exclamation,  Vega 
turned  to  Senora  Rojas. 

"You  hear!"  he  cried.    "My  rival!" 

Inez  moved  quickly  toward  Roddy.  Placing 
herself  at  his  side,  she  faced  the  others. 

Her  eyes  were  wide  with  excitement,  with  fear 
268 


The  White  Mice 

at  what  she  was  about  to  do.  As  though  begging 
permission,  she  raised  them  to  Roddy  and,  tim 
idly  stretching  out  her  hand,  touched  his  arm. 
"Mother,"  she  said,  "I  am  going  to  marry  Mr. 
Forrester!" 


269 


VIII 

THE  silence  that  greeted  the  announcement  of 
Inez,  was  broken  in  a  startling  fashion.  Be 
fore  her  mother  could  recover  from  her  amazement 
one  of  the  windows  to  the  garden  was  thrown  open, 
and  a  man  burst  through  it  and  sprang  toward 
Vega.  He  was  disheveled,  breathless;  from  a 
wound  in  his  forehead  a  line  of  blood  ran  down 
his  cheek.  His  appearance  was  so  alarming  that 
all  of  those  who,  the  instant  before,  had  been  star 
ing  in  astonishment  at  Inez  now  turned  to  the 
intruder.  They  recognized  him  as  the  personal 
servant  of  Vega.  Without  considering  the  presence 
of  the  others,  the  valet  spoke  as  he  crossed  the 
room. 

"The  police  are  in  your  house,"  he  panted. 
"They  have  searched  it;  taken  the  papers.  They 
tried  to  stop  me."  He  drew  his  hand  across  his 
face  and  showed  it  streaked  with  blood.  "  But  I 
escaped  by  the  harbor.  The  boat  is  at  the  wharf. 
You  have  not  a  moment!"  His  eyes  wandered 
toward  Pulido  and  Ramon,  and  he  exclaimed  de- 

270 


The  White  Mice 

lightedly,  "You  also!"  he  cried;  "there  is  still 
time!" 

General  Pulido  ran  to  the  window. 

"There  is  still  time!"  he  echoed.  "By  the 
boat  we  can  reach  Quinta  Tortola  at  the  appointed 
hour.  Colonel  Ramon,"  he  commanded,  "remain 
with  Senor  Caldwell.  You,  Pino,  come  with  me!" 

But  Vega  strode  furiously  toward  Roddy. 

"No!"  he  shouted.  "This  man  first!  My 
honor  first!" 

At  this  crisis  of  his  fortunes,  Sam  Caldwell,  much 
to  the  surprise  of  Roddy,  showed  himself  capable 
of  abrupt  action.  He  threw  his  arm  around  the 
waist  of  Vega,  and  ran  him  to  the  window. 

"Damn  your  honor!"  he  shrieked.  "You  take 
your  orders  from  me  !  Go  to  the  meeting-place!" 

Struggling,  not  only  in  the  arms  of  Caldwell  but 
in  those  of  Pulido  and  the  valet,  Vega  was  borne 
to  the  terrace.  As  he  was  pushed  from  the  window 
he  stretched  out  his  arm  toward  Roddy. 

"When  we  meet  again,"  he  cried,  "I  kill  you!" 

Roddy  looked  after  him  with  regret.  More 
alarming  to  him  than  the  prospect  of  a  duel  was 
the  prospect  of  facing  Senora  Rojas.  For  the 
moment  Vega  and  his  personal  danger  had  averted 
the  wrath  that  Roddy  knew  was  still  to  come,  but 
with  the  departure  of  Vega  he  saw  it  could  no 

271 


The  White  Mice 

longer  be  postponed.  He  turned  humbly  to 
Sefiora  Rojas.  The  scene  through  which  that  lady 
had  just  passed  had  left  her  trembling;  but  the 
sight  of  Roddy  confronting  her  seemed  at  once  to 
restore  her  self-possession.  Anxiously,  but  in  a 
tone  of  deep  respect,  Roddy  addressed  her: 

"I  have  the  great  honor,"  he  said,  "to  inform 
» 

After  one  indignant  glance  Senora  Rojas  turned 
from  him  to  her  daughter.  Her  words  sounded 
like  the  dripping  of  icicles. 

"  You  will  leave  the  room,"  she  said.  She  again 
glanced  at  Roddy.  "You  will  leave  the  house." 

Not  since  when,  as  a  child,  he  had  been  sent  to 
stand  in  a  corner  had  Roddy  felt  so  guilty.  And 
to  his  horror  he  found  he  was  torn  with  a  hysterical 
desire  to  laugh. 

"But,  Madame  Rojas,"  he  protested  hastily,  "it 
is  impossible  for  me  to  leave  until  I  make  clear  to 
you " 

In  the  fashion  of  the  country,  Senora  Rojas 
clapped  her  hands. 

"Surely,"  she  exclaimed,  "you  will  not  subject 
me  to  a  scene  before  the  servants." 

In  answer  to  her  summons  the  doors  flew  open, 
and  the  frightened  servants,  who  had  heard  of  the 
blood-stained  messenger,  pushed  into  the  room. 

272 


The  White  Mice 

With  the  air  of  a  great  lady  dismissing  an  honored 
guest  Senora  Rojas  bowed  to  Roddy,  and  Roddy, 
accepting  the  inevitable,  bowed  deeply  in  return. 

As  he  walked  to  the  door  he  cast  toward  Inez 
an  unhappy  look  of  apology  and  appeal.  But  the 
smile  with  which  she  answered  seemed  to  show 
that,  to  her,  their  discomfiture  was  in  no  way 
tragic.  Roddy  at  once  took  heart  and  beamed 
with  gratitude.  In  the  look  he  gave  her  he  en 
deavored  to  convey  his  assurance  of  the  devotion 
of  a  lifetime. 

"Good-by,"  said  Inez  pleasantly. 

"Good^-by,"  said  Roddy. 

On  coming  to  Porto  Cabello  Sam  Caldwell  had 
made  his  headquarters  at  the  home  of  the  United 
States  Consul,  who  owed  his  appointment  to  the 
influence  of  Mr.  Forrester,  and  who,  in  behalf  of 
that  gentleman,  was  very  justly  suspected  by 
Alvarez  of  "pernicious  activity."  On  taking  his 
leave  of  Senora  Rojas,  which  he  did  as  soon  as 
Roddy  had  been  shown  the  door,  Caldwell  hastened 
to  the  Consulate,  and,  as  there  might  be  domiciliary 
visits  to  the  houses  of  all  the  Vegaistas,  Colonel 
Ramon,  seeking  protection  as  a  poiidcal  refugee, 
accompanied  him. 

The  police  had  precipitated  the  departure  of 
273 


The  White  Mice 

Vega  from  the  city  by  only  a  few  hours.  He  had 
planned  to  leave  it  and  to  join  his  adherents  in  the 
mountains  that  same  afternoon,  and  it  was  only  to 
learn  the  result  of  the  final  appeal  to  Roddy  that 
he  had  waited.  As  they  hastened  through  the  back 
streets  to  the  Consulate,  Ramon  said: 

"It  was  not  worth  waiting  for.  Young  For 
rester  told  nothing.  And  why  ?  Because  he  knows 
nothing  V9 

"To  me,"  growled  Caldwell,  "he  makes  a  noise 
like  a  joker  in  the  pack.  I  don't  mind  telling  you 
he's  got  me  listening.  He  wouldn't  have  thrown 
up  his  job  and  quarrelled  with  his  father  and 
Senora  Rojas  if  he  wasn't  pretty  sure  he  was  in 
right.  Vega  tells  me,  three  weeks  ago  Roddy  went 
to  Curacao  to  ask  Madame  Rojas  to  help  him  get 
her  husband  out  of  prison.  Instead,  she  turned 
him  down  hard.  But  did  that  phase  him?  No! 
I  believe  he's  still  working — working  at  this  mo 
ment  on  some  plan  of  his  own  to  get  Rojas  free. 
Every  night  he  goes  out  in  his  launch  with  young 
De  Peyster.  Where  do  they  go  ?  They  say  they 
go  fishing.  Well,  maybe!  We  can't  follow  them, 
for  they  douse  the  lights  and  their  motor  is  too  fast 
for  us.  But,  to  me,  it  looks  like  a  rescue,  for  the 
only  way  they  could  rescue  Rojas  would  be  from 
the  harbor.  If  they  have  slipped  him  tools  and  he 

274 


The  White  Mice 

is  cutting  his  way  to  the  water,  some  dark  night 
they'll  carry  him  off  in  that  damned  launch.  And 
then,"  he  exclaimed  angrily,  "where  would  I  be? 
That  old  Rip  Van  Winkle  has  only  got  to  show  his 
face,  and  it  would  be  all  over  but  the  shouting. 
He'd  lose  us  what  we've  staked  on  Vega,  and  he'd 
make  us  carry  out  some  of  the  terms  of  our  con 
cession  that  would  cost  us  a  million  more." 

Ramon  exclaimed  with  contempt. 

"Forrester!"  he  cried.     "He  is  only  a  boy!" 

"Any  boy,"  snapped  Caldwell  impatiently  "who 
is  clever  enough  to  get  himself  engaged  to  the  rich 
est  girl  in  Venezuela,  under  the  guns  of  her  mother 
and  Pino  Vega,  is  old  enough  to  vote.  I  take  my 
hat  off  to  him." 

The  Venezuelan  turned  his  head  and  looked 
meaningly  at  Caldwrell;  his  eyes  were  hard  and 
cruel. 

"I  regret,"  he  said,  "but  he  must  be  stopped." 

"No,  you  don't!"  growled  Caldwell;  "that's  not 
tne  answer.  We  won't  stop  him.  We'll  let  him 
go!  It's  the  other  man  we'll  stop — Rojas!" 

"Yes,  yes!"  returned  Ramon  eagerly.  "That 
is  the  only  way  left.  Rojas  must  die!" 

"  Die ! "  laughed  Caldwell  comfortably.  "  Not  a 
bit  like  it!  I'm  rather  planning  to  improve  his 
health."  He  stopped  and  glanced  up  and  down 

275 


The  White  Mice 

the  narrow  street.  It  was  empty.  He  laid  his 
hand  impressively  on  the  arm  of  the  Venezuelan. 
"To-day,"  he  whispered,  "some  one  will  send 
a  letter — an  anonymous  letter — to  San  Carlos,  tell 
ing  the  Commandante  why  General  Rojas  would 
be  more  comfortable  in  another  cell." 

From  Miramar,  Roddy  returned  directly  to  his 
house.  On  the  way  he  found  the  city  in  a  ferment; 
all  shops  had  closed,  the  plazas  and  cafes  were 
crowded,  and  the  Alameda  was  lined  with  soldiers. 
Wherever  a  few  men  gathered  together  the  police 
ordered  them  to  separate;  and  in  the  driveways, 
troopers  of  Alvarez,  alert  and  watchful,  each  with 
his  carbine  on  his  hip,  rode  slowly  at  a  walk,  glan 
cing  from  left  to  right.  At  his  house,  Roddy  found 
gathered  there  all  of  the  White  Mice :  Peter,  Mc- 
Kildrick,  Vicenti  and  Pedro.  They  had  assembled, 
he  supposed,  to  learn  the  result  of  his  visit  to 
Miramar,  but  they  were  concerned  with  news  more 
important.  Vicenti  had  called  them  together  to 
tell  them  that,  at  any  moment,  the  Rojas  faction 
might  rise  and  attempt  to  seize  the  city  and  San 
Carlos.  The  escape  of  Vega,  and  the  fact,  which 
was  now  made  public,  that  he  had  proclaimed  him 
self  in  revolt,  had  given  the  Rojas  faction  the  op 
portunity  for  which  it  had  been  waiting.  The 

276 


The  White  Mice 

city  was  denuded  of  Government  troops.  For 
hours  they  had  been  pouring  out  of  it  in  pursuit  of 
Vega  and  his  little  band  of  revolutionists;  and 
until  reinforcements  should  arrive  from  Caracas, 
which  might  not  be  in  twenty-four  hours,  the  city 
was  defenseless.  The  moment  for  the  Rojas  party 
had  come. 

But  Vicenti  feared  that  the  assault  on  San  Carlos 
would  result,  not  only  in  the  death  of  many  of  those 
who  attacked  it,  but  also  would  be  the  signal  on  the 
inside  for  the  instant  assassination  of  Rojas.  It 
therefore  was  imperative,  before  the  attack  was 
made,  to  get  Rojas  out  of  prison.  He  dared  not 
inform  even  the  leaders  of  the  Rojas  party  of  the 
proposed  rescue.  It  must  be  attempted  only  by 
those  who  could  be  absolutely  trusted,  those  al 
ready  in  the  secret.  And  it  was  for  that  purpose 
he  had  called  the  White  Mice  together.  When 
Roddy  arrived  they  had,  subject  to  his  approval, 
arranged  their  plan.  From  what  Vicenti  had 
learned,  the  assault  on  the  fortress  would  be  made 
at  midnight.  It  was  accordingly  agreed  that  at 
nine  o'clock,  when  it  would  be  quite  dark,  they 
would  blow  open  the  wall.  Roddy,  McKildrick  and 
Peter  would  dine  together  at  Roddy's  house,  and  at 
eight,  in  the  launch,  would  leave  his  wharf.  Pedro, 
whose  presence  would  assure  General  Rojas  of  the 

277 


The  White  Mice 

good  intentions  of  the  others,  was  directed  to  so 
arrange  his  departure  from  Miramar  as  to  arrive 
by  the  shore  route  at  the  wharf  in  time  to  accom 
pany  them.  And  Vicenti,  who  had  set  his  watch 
with  McKildrick's,  was  at  once  to  inform  General 
Rojas  of  what  was  expected  to  happen,  and  at  nine 
o'clock,  when  the  wall  fell,  to  rush  with  him 
through  the  breach. 

In  the  patio  the  men,  standing  and  in  silence, 
drank  to  the  success  of  their  undertaking,  and 
then,  after  each  had  shaken  hands  with  the  others, 
separated.  By  Roddy's  orders  Pedro  was  to  in 
form  Inez  of  their  plan  and  to  tell  her  that,  if  the 
Rojas  party,  in  its  attack  upon  the  city,  was  suc 
cessful,  her  father  might  that  night  sleep  at  Mira 
mar.  If,  after  his  release,  the  issue  were  still  in 
doubt,  the  launch  would  carry  him  to  Cura£ao. 

Vicenti  left  for  San  Carlos.  In  case  it  should  be 
necessary  to  make  the  dash  to  Willemstad,  Peter 
remained  at  the  house  to  collect  for  the  voyage 
provisions,  medicine,  stimulants,  casks  of  water, 
and  McKildrick  and  Roddy  departed  in  the  launch 
to  lay  the  mine  which  was  to  destroy  the  barrier. 
On  their  way  they  stopped  at  the  light-house,  where 
McKildrick  collected  what  he  wanted  for  that 
purpose.  It  was  now  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon, 
and  by  five  they  had  entered  the  tunnel  and  reached 

278 


The  White  Mice 

the  wall.  McKildrick  dug  a  hole  in  the  cement  a 
few  feet  above  the  base,  and  in  this  shoved  a  stick 
of  dynamite  of  sixty  per  cent,  nitro,  and  attached 
a  number  six  cap  and  a  fuse  a  foot  long.  This 
would  burn  for  one  minute  and  allow  whoever 
lighted  it  that  length  of  time  to  get  under  cover. 
In  case  of  a  miss-fire,  he  had  brought  with  him 
extra  sticks,  fuses  and  caps.  These,  with  drills 
and  a  sledge-hammer,  they  hid  in  a  corner  of  the 
wall. 

In  the  damp  darkness  of  the  tunnel  it  was  diffi 
cult  to  believe  that  outside  the  sun  was  still  shining. 

"If  it  were  only  night!"  said  Roddy.  "I  hate 
to  leave  it.  I'd  only  have  to  touch  a  match  to  that, 
and  he'd  be  free." 

"Free  of  the  cell,"  assented  McKildrick,  "but 
we  could  never  get  him  away.  The  noise  will 
bring  the  whole  garrison.  It  will  be  like  heaving 
a  brick  into  a  hornets'  nest.  We  must  wait  for 
darkness.  This  is  no  matinee  performance." 

On  the  return  trip  to  the  city  they  sat  in  silence, 
the  mind  of  each  occupied  by  his  own  thoughts. 
How  serious  these  thoughts  were  neither  cared  to 
confess  in  words,  but  as  they  passed  under  the 
guns  of  the  fortress  they  glanced  at  each  other  and 
smiled. 

"You  mustn't  think,  Mac,"  said  Roddy  grate- 
279 


The  White  Mice 

fully,  "I  don't  appreciate  what  you're  doing.  You 
stand  to  lose  a  lot!" 

"I  can  always  get  another  job,"  returned  Me- 
Kildrick. 

"You  can't  if  one  of  these  fellows  puts  a  bullet 
in  you,"  said  Roddy.  u  You  know  you  are  makinv 
a  big  sacrifice,  and  I  thank  you  for  it." 

McKildrick  looked  at  him  in  some  embarrass 
ment. 

"You  stand  to  lose  more  than  any  of  us,"  he 
said.  "I'm  told  you  are  to  be  congratulated." 
His  eyes  were  so  full  of  sympathy  and  good  feeling 
that  Roddy  held  out  his  hand. 

"You're  the  first  one  to  do  it,"  he  said  happily; 
"and  it's  good  to  hear.  Mac!"  he  exclaimed,  in 
awe-struck  tones,  "I'm  the  happiest,  luckiest,  and 
the  least  deserving  beggar  in  all  the  world!" 

McKildrick  smiled  dryly. 

"I  seem  to  have  heard  something  like  that  be 
fore,"  he  said. 

"Never!"  cried  Roddy  stoutly.  "Other  poor 
devils  may  have  thought  so,  but  I  know.  It  never 
happened  to  any  one  but  me!" 

McKildrick  turned  his  eyes  seaward  and 
frowned. 

"I  even  used  the  same  lines  myself  once,"  he 
said;  "but  I  found  I'd  got  hold  of  some  other 

280 


The  White  Mice 

fellow's  part.  So  if  anything  should  come  my  way 
to-night  it  wouldn't  make  such  a  lot  of  difference." 

Roddy  took  one  hand  from  the  wheel  and,  lean 
ing  forward,  touched  McKildrick  on  the  knee. 

"I'm  sorry,"  he  said;  "I  didn't  know." 

McKildrick  nodded,  and  as  though  glad  of  an 
interruption,  held  up  his  hand. 

"Listen!"  he  cried.     "Stop  the  engine!" 

Roddy  let  the  launch  slip  forward  on  her  own 
headway.  In  the  silence  that  followed  they  heard 
from  the  city  the  confused  murmur  of  a  mob  and 
the  sharp  bark  of  pistols.  They  looked  at  each 
other  significantly. 

"The  surface  indications  seem  to  show,"  said 
McKildrick,  "that  things  are  loosening  up.  I  guess 
it's  going  to  be  one  of  those  nights!" 

As  they  rounded  the  point  and  the  whole  of  the 
harbor  front  came  into  view,  they  saw  that  the 
doors  of  the  bonded  warehouses  had  been  broken 
open,  and  that  the  boxes  and  bales  they  contained 
had  been  tumbled  out  upon  the  wharf  and  piled 
into  barricades.  From  behind  these,  and  from 
the  windows  of  the  custom-house,  men  not  in 
uniform,  and  evidently  of  the  Rojas  faction,  were 
firing  upon  the  tiny  gunboat  in  the  harbor,  and 
from  it  their  rifle-fire  was  being  answered  by  an 
automatic  gun.  With  full  speed  ahead,  Roddy  ran 

281 


The  White  Mice 

the  gauntlet  of  this  cross-fire,  and  in  safety  tied 
up  to  his  own  wharf. 

"Go  inside,"  he  commanded,  "and  find  out  what 
has  happened.  And  tell  Peter  we'll  take  his  cargo 
on  board  now.  Until  we're  ready  to  start  I'll  stay 
by  the  launch  and  see  no  one  tries  to  borrow  her." 

Peter  and  McKildrick  returned  at  once,  and 
with  gasoline,  tins  of  biscuit  and  meat,  and  a  cask 
of  drinking  water,  stocked  the  boat  for  her  possible 
run  to  Curacao.  The  Rojas  party,  so  Peter  in 
formed  them,  had  taken  the  barracks  in  the  suburbs 
and,  preliminary  to  an  attack  on  the  fortress,  had 
seized  the  custom-house  which  faced  it;  but  the 
artillery  barracks,  which  were  inside  the  city,  were 
still  in  the  hands  of  the  government  troops.  Until 
they  were  taken,  with  the  guns  in  them,  the  Rojas 
faction  were  without  artillery,  and  against  the 
fortress  could  do  nothing.  It  was  already  dusk, 
and,  in  half  an  hour,  would  be  night.  It  was  for 
this  the  Rojas  crowd  were  waiting.  As  yet,  of 
Vega  and  his  followers  no  news  had  reached  the 
city.  But  the  government  troops  were  pursuing 
him  closely,  and  it  was  probable  that  an  engage 
ment  had  already  taken  place. 

"By  this  time,"  said  Roddy,  "Vicenti  has  told 
Rojas,  and  in  an  hour  Pedro  will  arrive,  and  then 
we  start.  Go  get  something  to  eat,  and  send  my 

282 


The  White  Mice 

dinner  out  here.     I've  some  tinkering  to  do  on  the 
engine." 

Before  separating,  McKildrick  suggested  that 
Peter  and  Roddy  should  set  their  watches  by  his, 
which  was  already  set  to  agree  with  Vicenti's. 

"For,  should  anything  happen  to  me,"  he  ex 
plained,  "you  boys  must  blow  up  the  wall,  and  you 
must  know  just  when  you  are  to  do  it.  Roddy 
knows  how  to  do  it,  and,"  he  added  to  Peter,  "I'll 
explain  it  to  you  while  we're  at  dinner." 

They  left  Roddy  on  his  knees,  busily  plying  his 
oil-can,  and  crossed  the  garden.  In  the  patio  they 
found  the  table  ready  for  dinner,  and  two  lamps 
casting  a  cheerful  light  upon  the  white  cloth  and 
flashing  from  the  bottle  of  red  Rioja. 

As  they  seated  themselves,  one  of  the  stray 
bullets  that  were  singing  above  the  housetops  dis 
lodged  a  tile,  and  the  pieces  of  red  clay  fell  clatter 
ing  into  the  courtyard.  Peter  reached  for  the 
claret  and,  with  ostentatious  slowness,  filled  Mc- 
Kildrick's  glass. 

"Dynasties  may  come,"  he  said,  "and  dynasties 
may  go;  but  I  find  one  always  dines." 

"Why  not?"  replied  McKildrick.  "Napoleon 
said  an  army  is  a  collection  of  stomachs.  Why 
should  you  and  I  pretend  to  be  better  soldiers  than 
Napoleon's?" 

283 


The  White  Mice 

As  a  signal  to  the  kitchen  he  clapped  his  hands; 
but  the  servant  who  answered  came  not  from  the 
kitchen,  but  from  the  street.  His  yellow  skin  was 
pale  with  fright.  He  gasped  and  pointed  into  the 
shadow  at  a  soldier  who  followed  him.  The  man 
wore  the  uniform  of  a  hospital  steward  and  on  his 
arm  the  badge  of  the  Red  Cross.  He  stepped  for 
ward  and,  glancing  with  concern  from  Peter  to 
McKildrick,  saluted  mechanically. 

"Doctor  Vicenti!"  he  exclaimed;  "he  wishes  to 
see  you.  He  is  outside  on  a  stretcher.  We  are 
taking  him  to  the  hospital,  but  he  made  us  bring 
him  here  first."  The  man  shook  his  head  sharply. 
"He  is  dying!"  he  said. 

In  this  sudden  threat  of  disaster  to  their  plan 
the  thought  of  both  the  conspirators  was  first  for 
Rojas. 

"My  God!"  cried  Peter,  and  stared  helplessly 
at  the  older  man. 

"Dying?"  protested  McKildrick.  "I  saw  him 
an  hour  ago;  he  was " 

"  He  was  caring  for  the  wounded  in  the  streets. 
He  was  shot,"  answered  the  man  gravely,  laying 
his  finger  on  his  heart,  "here!" 

"Caring  for  the  wounded!"  cried  McKildrick. 
"Why  in  hell  wasn't  he " 

"Be  quiet!"  warned  Peter. 
284 


The  White  Mice 

McKildrick  checked  himself  and,  followed  by 
Peter,  ran  to  the  street.  In  the  light  from  the  open 
door  he  saw  an  army  stretcher,  and  on  it  a  figure 
of  a  man  covered  with  a  blanket.  An  officer  and 
the  soldiers  who  had  borne  the  stretcher  stood 
in  the  shadow.  With  an  exclamation  of  remorse 
and  sympathy,  McKildrick  advanced  quickly  and 
leaned  forward.  But  the  man  on  the  stretcher 
was  not  Vicenti.  To  make  sure,  McKildrick  bent 
lower,  and  in  an  instant  the  stranger  threw  out  his 
arms  and,  clasping  him  around  the  neck,  dragged 
him  down.  At  the  same  moment  the  stretcher 
bearers  fell  upon  him  from  the  rear,  and,  wrenching 
back  his  arms,  held  them  together  until  the  officer 
clasped  his  wrists  with  handcuffs.  From  Peter  he 
heard  a  muffled  roar  and,  twisting  his  head,  saw 
him  rolling  on  the  sidewalk.  On  top  of  him  were 
a  half-dozen  soldiers;  when  they  lifted  him  to  his 
feet  his  wrists  also  were  in  manacles. 

McKildrick's  outbursts  were  silenced  by  the 
officer. 

"You  need  not  tell  me  you  are  Americans,"  he 
said,  "and  if  you  go  quietly  no  harm  will  come. 
We  wish  only  to  keep  you  out  of  mischief." 

"  Go  ? "  demanded  Peter.     "  Go  where  ? " 

"To  the  cartel,"  said  the  officer,  smiling.  "You 
will  be  safer  there." 

285 


The  White  Mice 

He  stepped  into  the  light  and  waved  his  sword, 
and  from  across  the  street  came  running  many 
more  soldiers.  A  squad  of  these  the  officer  de 
tailed  to  surround  his  prisoners.  To  the  others 
he  said:  "Search  the  house.  Find  the  third  one, 
Senor  Forrester.  Do  not  harm  him,  but,"  he 
added  meaningly,  "bring  him  with  you!" 

At  the  word,  Peter  swung  his  arms  free  from 
the  man  who  held  them.  With  a  yell  of  warning, 
which  he  hoped  would  reach  Roddy,  and  pulling 
impotently  at  his  handcuffs,  he  dashed  into  the 
house,  the  soldiers  racing  at  his  heels. 

Roddy  had  finished  his  inspection  of  his  engine, 
but  was  still  guarding  the  launch,  waiting  with 
impatience  for  some  one  to  bring  him  his  dinner. 
He  was  relieved  to  note  that  from  the  direction  of 
Miramar  there  was  no  sound  of  fighting.  In  the 
lower  part  of  the  city  he  could  hear  a  brisk  fusillade, 
but,  except  from  the  custom-house,  the  firing  had 
more  the  sound  of  street  fighting  than  of  an  organ 
ized  attack.  From  this,  he  judged  the  assault  on 
the  artillery  barracks  had  not  yet  begun.  He 
flashed  his  electric  torch  on  his  watch,  and  it 
showed  half  past  seven.  There  was  still  a  half- 
hour  to  wait.  He  rose  and,  for  the  hundredth  time, 
spun  the  wheel  of  his  engine,  examined  his  revolver, 
and  yawned  nervously.  It  was  now  quite  dark. 

286 


The  White  Mice 

Through  the  trees  and  shrubs  in  the  garden  he 
could  see  the  lights  on  the  dinner-table  and  the 
spectacle  made  him  the  more  hungry.  To  remind 
the  others  that  he  was  starving,  he  gave  a  long 
whistle.  It  was  at  once  cautiously  answered,  to  his 
surprise,  not  from  the  house  but  from  a  spot  a 
hundred  feet  from  him,  on  the  shore  of  the  harbor, 
He  decided,  as  it  was  in  the  direction  one  would 
take  in  walking  from  Miramar,  that  Pedro  had 
arrived,  and  he  sighed  with  relief.  He  was  about 
to  repeat  his  signal  of  distress  when,  from  the  patio, 
there  arose  a  sudden  tumult.  In  an  instant,  with 
a  crash  of  broken  glass  and  china,  the  lights  were 
extinguished,  and  he  heard  the  voice  of  Peter 
shrieking  his  name.  He  sprang  from  the  launch 
and  started  toward  the  garden.  At  that  moment 
a  heavy  body  crashed  upon  the  gravel  walk,  and 
there  was  the  rush  of  many  feet. 

"Roddy!"  shrieked  the  voice  of  Peter,  "they're 
taking  us  to  jail.  They're  coming  after  you.  Run ! 
Run  like  hell!" 

In  the  darkness  Roddy  could  see  nothing.  He 
heard  what  sounded  like  an  army  of  men  trampling 
and  beating  the  bushes.  His  first  thought  was 
that  he  must  attempt  a  rescue.  He  jerked  out  his 
gun  and  raced  down  the  wharf.  Under  his  flying 
feet  the  boards  rattled  and  Peter  heard  him  coming. 

287 


The  White  Mice 

"Go  back!"  he  shrieked  furiously.  "You  can't 
help  us!  You've  got  work  to  do!  Do  it!" 

The  profanity  with  which  these  orders  were 
issued  convinced  Roddy  that  Peter  was  very  much 
in  earnest  and  in  no  personal  danger. 

The  next  moment  he  was  left  no  time  for 
further  hesitation.  His  flying  footsteps  had  been 
heard  by  the  soldiers  as  well  as  by  Peter,  and  from 
the  garden  they  rushed  shouting  to  the  beach. 
Against  such  odds  Roddy  saw  that  to  rescue  Peter 
was  impossible,  while  at  the  same  time,  even  alone, 
he  still  might  hope  to  rescue  Rojas. 

He  cast  loose  the  painter  of  the  launch,  and  with 
all  his  strength  shoved  it  clear.  He  had  apparently 
acted  not  a  moment  too  soon,  for  a  figure  clad  in 
white  leaped  upon  the  wharf  and  raced  toward 
him.  Roddy  sprang  to  the  wheel  and  the  launch 
moved  slowly  in  a  circle.  At  the  first  sound  of  the 
revolving  screw  there  came  from  the  white  figure 
a  cry  of  dismay.  It  was  strangely  weak,  strangely 
familiar,  strangely  feminine. 

"  Roddy ! "  cried  the  voice.     "  It  is  I,  Inez ! " 

With  a  shout  of  amazement,  joy,  and  consterna 
tion,  Roddy  swung  the  boat  back  toward  the  shore, 
and  by  the  breadth  of  an  oar-blade  cleared  the 
wharf.  There  was  a  cry  of  relief,  of  delight,  a 
flutter  of  skirts,  and  Inez  sprang  into  it.  In  an 

28* 


The  White  Mice 

agony  of  fear  for  her  safety,  Roddy  pushed  her  to 
the  bottom  of  the  launch. 

"Get  down!"  he  commanded.  "They  can  see 
your  dress.  They'll  fire  on  you." 

From  the  shore  an  excited  voice  cried  in  Spanish' 
"Do  I  shoot,  sergeant?" 

"No!"  answered  another.  "Remember  your 
orders!" 

"But  he  escapes!"  returned  the  first  voice,  and 
on  the  word  there  was  a  flash,  a  report,  and  a 
bullet  whined  above  them.  Another  and  others 
followed,  but  the  busy  chug-chug  of  the  engine 
continued  undismayed  and,  as  the  noise  of  its 
progress  died  away,  the  firing  ceased.  Roddy  left 
the  wheel,  and,  stooping,  took  Inez  in  his  arms. 
Behind  them  the  city  was  a  blaze  of  light,  and 
the  sky  above  it  was  painted  crimson.  From  the 
fortress,  rockets,  hissing  and  roaring,  signalled  to 
the  barracks;  from  the  gun-boat,  the  quick-firing 
guns  were  stabbing  the  darkness  with  swift,  vin 
dictive  flashes.  In  different  parts  of  the  city  in 
cendiary  fires  had  started  and  were  burning  sul 
lenly,  sending  up  into  the  still  night  air  great, 
twisting  columns  of  sparks.  The  rattle  of  mus 
ketry  was  incessant. 

With  his  arm  about  her  and  her  face  pressed  to 
his,  Inez  watched  the  spectacle  unseeingly.  For 

289 


The  White  Mice 

the  moment  it  possessed  no  significance.  And  for 
Roddy,  as  he  held  her  close,  it  seemed  that  she 
must  feel  his  heart  beating  with  happiness.  He 
had  never  dared  to  hope  that  such  a  time  would 
come,  when  they  would  be  alone  together,  when  it 
would  be  his  right  to  protect  and  guard  her,  when, 
again  and  again,  he  might  try  to  tell  her  how  he 
loved  her.  Like  one  coming  from  a  dream,  Inez 
stirred  and  drew  away. 

"Where  are  we  going  ?"  she  whispered. 

"We're  going  to  the  tunnel  to  save  your  father," 
answered  Roddy. 

The  girl  gave  a  little  sigh  of  content  and  again 
sank  back  into  the  shelter  of  his  arm. 

They  passed  the  fortress,  giving  it  a  wide  berth, 
and  turned  in  toward  the  shore.  The  city  now 
lay  far  to  the  right,  and  the  clamor  of  the  conflict 
came  to  them  but  faintly. 

"Tell  me,"  said  Roddy,  "why  did  you  come  to 
the  wharf?"  He  seemed  to  be  speaking  of  some 
thing  that  had  happened  far  back  in  the  past,  of  a 
matter  which  he  remembered  as  having  once  been 
of  vivid  importance,  but  which  now  was  of  conse 
quence  only  in  that  it  concerned  her. 

Reluctantly  Inez  broke  the  silence  that  had 
enveloped  them. 

"They  came  to  the  house  and  arrested  Pedro," 
290 


The  White  Mice 

she  said.  To  her  also  the  subject  seemed  to  be 
of  but  little  interest.  She  spoke  as  though  it  were 
only  with  an  effort  she  could  recall  the  details. 
"I  knew  you  needed  him  to  convince  father  you 
were  friends.  So,  as  he  could  not  come,  I  came. 
Did  I  do  right?" 

"Whatever  you  do  is  right,"  answered  Roddy. 
"We  might  as  well  start  life  with  that  proposition 
as  a  fixed  fact." 

"And  do  you  want  me  with  you  now?"  whis 
pered  the  girl. 

"Do  I  want  you  with  me!"  Roddy  exclaimed,  in 
mock  exasperation.  "Don't  provoke  me!"  he 
cried.  "I  am  trying,"  he  protested,  "to  do  my 
duty,  while  what  I  would  like  to  do  is  to  point  this 
boat  the  other  way,  and  elope  with  you  to  Curacao. 
So,  if  you  love  your  father,  don't  make  yourself 
any  more  distractingly  attractive  than  you  are  at 
this  moment.  If  you  don't  help  me  to  be  strong  I 
will  run  away  with  you." 

Inez  laughed,  softly  and  happily,  and,  leaning 
toward  him,  kissed  him. 

"That's  not  helping  me!"  protested  Roddy. 

"It  is  for  the  last  time,"  said  Inez,  "until  my 
father  is  free." 

"That  may  not  be  for  months!"  cried  Roddy, 

"  It  is  for  the  last  time,"  repeated  Inez. 
291 


The  White  Mice 

Roddy  concealed  the  launch  in  the  cove  Delow 
El  Morro  and,  taking  from  the  locker  a  flask  of 
brandy  and  an  extra  torch,  led  the  way  up  the  hill. 
When  they  drew  near  to  the  fortress,  fearing  a 
possible  ambush,  he  left  Inez  and  proceeded  alone 
to  reconnoitre.  But  El  Morro  was  undisturbed, 
and  as  he  and  McKildrick  had  left  it.  He  returned 
for  Inez,  and  at  the  mouth  of  the  tunnel  halted 
and  pointed  to  a  place  well  suited  for  concealment. 

"You  will  wait  there/*  he  commanded. 

"No,"  returned  the  girl  quietly,  "I  will  go  with 
you.  You  forget  I  am  your  sponsor,  and,"  she 
added  gently,  "I  am  more  than  that.  After  this, 
where  you  go,  I  go." 

As  she  spoke  there  came  from  the  wharf  of  the 
custom-house,  lying  a  mile  below  them,  a  flash  of 
flame.  It  was  followed  by  others,  and  instantly, 
like  an  echo,  the  guns  of  the  fort  replied. 

"Shrapnel!"  cried  Roddy.  "They've  captured 
the  artillery  barracks,  and  we  haven't  a  moment  to 
lose!" 

He  threw  himself  on  the  levers  that  moved  the 
slabs  of  stone  and  forced  them  apart.  Giving 
Inez  his  hand,  he  ran  with  her  down  the  steps  of 
the  tunnel. 

"But  why,"  cried  Inez,  "is  there  more  need  for 
haste  now  than  before  ?" 

292 


The  White  Mice 

Roddy  could  not  tell  her  the  assault  of  the  Rojas 
party  on  the  fortress  might  lead  to  a  reprisal  in  the 
assassination  of  her  father. 

"The  sound  of  the  cannon,"  he  answered  eva 
sively,  "will  drown  out  what  we  do." 

Roddy  was  now  more  familiar  with  the  various 
windings  of  the  tunnel,  and  they  advanced  quickly. 
Following  the  circles  of  light  cast  by  their  torches, 
they  moved  so  rapidly  that  when  they  reached  the 
wall  both  were  panting.  Roddy  held  his  watch  in 
front  of  the  light  and  cried  out  with  impatience. 

"Ten  minutes!"  he  exclaimed,  "and  every 
minute — "  He  checked  himself  and  turned  to 
the  wall.  The  dynamite,  with  the  cap  and  fuse  at 
tached,  was  as  McKildrick  had  placed  it.  For  a 
tamp  he  scooped  up  from  the  surface  of  the  tunnel 
a  handful  of  clay,  and  this  he  packed  tightly  over 
the  cap,  leaving  the  fuse  free.  He  led  Inez  back 
to  a  safe  distance  from  the  wall,  and  there,  with 
eyes  fastened  on  Roddy's  watch,  they  waited.  The 
seconds  dragged  interminably.  Neither  spoke,  and 
the  silence  of  the  tunnel  weighed  upon  them  like 
the  silence  of  a  grave.  But  even  buried  as  they 
were  many  feet  beneath  the  ramparts,  they  could 
hear  above  them  the  reverberations  of  the  cannon. 

"They  are  firing  in  half-minute  intervals," 
whispered  Roddy.  "I  will  try  to  set  off  the  dyna- 

293 


The  White  Mice 

mite  when  they  fire,  so  that  in  the  casements,  at 
least,  no  one  will  hear  me.  When  the  explosion 
comes,"  he  directed,  "wait  until  I  call  you,  and  if  I 
shout  to  you  to  run,  for  God's  sake,"  he  entreated, 
"don't  delay  an  instant,  but  make  for  the  mouth  of 
the  tunnel." 

Inez  answered  him  in  a  tone  of  deep  reproach. 
"You  are  speaking,"  she  said,  "to  a  daughter  of 
General  Rojas."  Her  voice  trembled,  but,  as 
Roddy  knew,  it  trembled  from  excitement.  "  You 
must  not  think  of  me"  commanded  the  girl.  "I 
am  here  to  help,  not  to  be  a  burden.  And,"  she 
added  gently,  her  love  speaking  to  him  in  her 
voice,  "we  leave  this  place  together,  or  not  at  all." 

Her  presence  had  already  shaken  Roddy,  and 
now  her  words  made  the  necessity  of  leaving  her 
seem  a  sacrifice  too  great  to  be  required  of  him. 
Almost  brusquely,  he  started  from  her. 

"I  must  go,"  he  whispered.  "Wish  me  good 
luck  for  your  father." 

"May  God  preserve  you  both!"  answered  the 
girl. 

As  he  walked  away  Roddy  turned  and  shifted 
his  light  for  what  he  knew  might  be  his  last  look  at 
her.  He  saw  her,  standing  erect  as  a  lance,  her 
eyes  flashing.  Her  lips  were  moving  and  upon  her 
breast  her  fingers  traced  the  sign  of  the  cross. 


Her  fingers  traced  the  sign  of  the  cross. 


The  White  Mice 

Roddy  waited  until  his  watch  showed  a  minute 
to  nine  o'clock.  To  meet  the  report  of  the  next 
gun,  he  delayed  a  half-minute  longer,  and  then 
lit  the  fuse,  and,  running  back,  flattened  himself 
against  the  side  of  the  tunnel.  There  was  at  last 
a  dull,  rumbling  roar  and  a  great  crash  of  falling 
rock.  Roddy  raced  to  the  sound  and  saw  in  the 
wall  a  gaping,  black  hole.  Through  it,  from  the 
other  side,  lights  showed  dimly.  In  the  tunnel  he 
was  choked  with  a  cloud  of  powdered  cement. 
He  leaped  through  this  and,  stumbling  over  a  mass 
of  broken  stone,  found  himself  in  the  cell.  Except 
for  the  breach  in  the  wall  the  explosion  had  in  no 
way  disturbed  it.  The  furniture  was  in  place,  a 
book  lay  untouched  upon  the  table;  in  the  draft 
from  the  tunnel  the  candles  flickered  drunkenly. 
But  of  the  man  for  whom  he  sought,  for  whom  he 
was  risking  his  life,  there  was  no  sign.  With  a  cry 
of  amazement  and  alarm  Roddy  ran  to  the  iron 
door  of  the  cell.  It  was  locked  and  bolted.  Now 
that  the  wall  no  longer  deadened  the  sound  his 
ears  were  assailed  by  all  the  fierce  clamor  of  the 
battle.  Rolling  toward  him  down  the  stone  cor 
ridor  came  the  splitting  roar  of  the  siege  guns,  the 
rattle  of  rifle  fire,  the  shouts  of  men.  Against  these 
sounds,  he  recognized  that  the  noise  of  the  explo 
sion  had  carried  no  farther  than  the  limits  of  the 

295 


The  White  Mice 

cell,  or  had  been  confused  with  the  tumult  over 
head.  He  knew,  therefore,  that  from  that  source 
he  need  not  fear  discovery.  But  in  the  light  of  the 
greater  fact  that  his  attempt  at  rescue  had  failed, 
his  own  immediate  safety  became  of  little  conse 
quence.  He  turned  and  peered  more  closely  into 
each  corner  of  the  cell.  The  clouds  of  cement 
thrown  up  by  the  dynamite  had  settled;  and,  hid 
den  by  the  table,  Roddy  now  saw,  huddled  on  the 
stone  floor,  with  his  back  against  the  wall,  the 
figure  of  a  man.  With  a  cry  of  relief  and  concern, 
Roddy  ran  toward  him  and  flashed  his  torch.  It 
was  Vicenti.  The  face  of  the  young  doctor  was 
bloodless,  his  eyes  wild  and  staring.  He  raised 
them  imploringly. 

"Go!"  he  whispered.  His  voice  was  weak  and 
racked  with  pain.  "Some  one  has  betrayed  us. 
They  know  everything!" 

Roddy  exclaimed  furiously,  and,  for  an  instant, 
his  mind  was  torn  with  doubts. 

"And  you!"  he  demanded.  "Why  are  you 
here?" 

Vicenti,  reading  the  suspicion  in  his  eyes,  raised 
his  hands;  the  pantomime  was  sufficiently  elo 
quent.  In  deep  circles  around  his  wrists  were 
new,  raw  wounds. 

"They  tried  to  make  me  tell,"  he  whispered. 
296 


The  White  Mice 

"They  think  you're  coming  in  the  launch.  You, 
with  the  others.  When  I  wouldn't  answer,  they 
put  me  here.  It  was  their  jest.  You  were  to  find 
me  instead  of  the  other.  They  are  waiting  now 
on  the  ramparts  above  us,  waiting  for  you  to  come 
in  the  launch.  They  know  nothing  of  the  tunnel." 

Roddy's  eyes  were  fixed  in  horror  on  the  bleeding 
wrists. 

"They  tortured  you!"  he  cried. 

"I  fainted.  When  I  came  to,"  whispered  the 
doctor,  "  I  found  myself  locked  in  here.  For  God's 
sake,"  he  pleaded,  "save  yourself!" 

"And  Rojas?"  demanded  Roddy. 

"That  is  impossible!"  returned  Vicenti,  answer 
ing  Roddy's  thought.  "He  is  in  another  cell,  far 
removed,  the  last  one,  in  this  corridor." 

"In  this  corridor!"  demanded  Roddy. 

Vicenti  feebly  reached  out  his  hand  and  seized 
Roddy's  arm. 

"It  is  impossible!"  he  pleaded.  "You  can't 
get  out  of  this  cell." 

"I  will  get  out  of  it  the  same  way  I  got  in," 
answered  Roddy.  "Can  you  walk  ?" 

With  his  eyes,  Vicenti  measured  the  distance  to 
the  breach  in  the  wall. 

"Help  me!  "he  begged. 

Roddy  lifted  him  to  his  feet  and,  with  his  arm 
297 


The  White  Mice 

around  him,  supported  him  into  the  tunnel.  From 
his  flask  he  gave  him  brandy,  and  Vicenti  nodded 
gratefully. 

"Further  on,"  directed  Roddy,  "you  will  find 
Senorita  Rojas.  Tell  her  she  must  go  at  once. 
Don't  let  her  know  that  I  am  going  after  her  father." 

"It  is  madness!"  cried  Vicenti.  "The  turnkey 
is  in  the  corridor,  and  at  any  moment  they  may 
come  to  assassinate  Rojas." 

"Then  I've  no  time  to  waste,"  exclaimed  Roddy. 
"Get  the  Senorita  and  yourself  out  of  the  tunnel, 
and  get  out  quick  /" 

"But  you?"  pleaded  Vicenti.  "You  can  do 
nothing." 

"If  I  must,"  answered  Roddy,  "I  can  blow  the 
whole  damn  fort  to  pieces!" 

He  ran  to  the  spot  where  McKildrick  had  placed 
the  extra  explosives.  With  these  and  the  hand- 
drill,  the  sledge,  and  carrying  his  hat  filled  with 
clay,  he  again  climbed  through  the  breach  into  the 
cell.  The  fierceness  of  the  attack  upon  the  fort 
had  redoubled,  and  to  repulse  it  the  entire  strength 
of  the  garrison  had  been  summoned  to  the  ram 
parts,  leaving,  so  far  as  Roddy  could  see  through 
the  bars,  the  corridor  unguarded.  The  door  of  the 
cell  hung  on  three  trunnions,  and  around  the  lowest 
hinge  the  weight  of  the  iron  door  had  loosened  the 

298 


The  White  Mice 

lead  and  cement  in  which,  many  years  before,  it 
had  been  imbedded.  With  his  drill,  Roddy  in 
creased  the  opening  to  one  large  enough  to  receive 
the  fingers  of  his  hand  and  into  it  welded  a  stick 
of  dynamite.  To  this  he  affixed  a  cap  and  fuse,, 
and  clapping  on  his  tamp  of  clay,  lit  the  fuse,  and; 
ran  into  the  tunnel.  He  had  cut  the  fuse  to  half- 
length,  and  he  had  not  long  to  wait.  With  a  roar 
that  shook  the  cell  and  echoed  down  the  corridor, 
that  portion  of  the  wall  on  which  the  bars  hung 
was  torn  apart,  and  the  cell  door,  like  a  giant  grid 
iron,  fell  sprawling  across  the  corridor.  Roddy 
could  not  restrain  a  lonely  cheer.  So  long  as  the 
battle  drowned  out  the  noise  of  the  explosions  and 
called  from  that  part  of  the  prison  all  those  who 
might  oppose  him,  the  rescue  of  Rojas  again 
seemed  feasible.  With  another  charge  of  dyna 
mite  the  last  cell  in  the  corridor  could  be  blown 
open,  and  Rojas  would  be  free.  But  Roddy  was 
no  longer  allowed,  undisturbed,  to  blast  his  way  to 
success.  Almost  before  the  iron  door  had  struck 
the  floor  of  the  corridor  there  leaped  into  the  open 
ing  the  burly  figure  of  the  turnkey.  In  one  hand 
he  held  a  revolver,  in  the  other  a  lantern.  Lifting 
the  lantern  above  his  head,  he  stood  balancing  him 
self  upon  the  fallen  grating.  Hanging  to  his  belt, 
Roddy  saw  a  bunch  of  keys.  The  sight  of  the 

299 


The  White  Mice 

keys  went  to  his  head  like  swift  poison.  For  them 
he  suddenly  felt  himself  capable  of  murder.  The 
dust  hung  in  a  cloud  between  the  two  men,  and 
before  the  turnkey  could  prepare  for  the  attack 
Roddy  had  flung  himself  on  him  and,  twisting  the 
bones  of  his  wrist,  had  taken  the  revolver.  With 
one  hand  on  the  throat  of  the  turnkey  he  shoved 
the  revolver  up  under  his  chin  until  the  circle  of 
steel  sank  into  the  flesh. 

"Don't  cry  out!"  whispered  Roddy.  "Do  as 
I  tell  you,  or  I'll  blow  your  head  off".  Take  me  to 
the  cell  of  General  Rojas!" 

Brave  as  the  man  had  been  the  moment  be 
fore,  the  kiss  of  the  cold  muzzle  turned  his  pur 
pose  to  ice.  The  desire  to  live  was  all-compelling. 
Choking,  gasping,  his  eyes  rolling  appealingly,  he 
nodded  assent.  With  the  revolver  at  his  back  he 
ran  down  the  corridor,  and,  as  he  ran,  without 
further  direction,  fumbled  frantically  at  his  keys. 
At  the  end  of  the  corridor  he  separated  one  from 
the  others,  and  with  a  trembling  hand  unlocked  and 
pushed  open  a  cell  door. 

The  cell  was  steeped  in  darkness.  Roddy  threw 
the  turnkey  sprawling  into  it,  and  with  his  free 
hand  closed  his  fingers  over  the  key  in  the  lock. 

"  General  Rojas ! "  he  called.  "  Come  out !  You 
are  free!" 

300 


The  White  Mice 

A  shadowy  figure  suddenly  confronted  mm;  out 
of  the  darkness  a  voice,  fearless  and  unshaken, 
answered. 

"What  do  you  wish  with  me?"  demanded  the 
voice  steadily.  "Is  this  assassination?  Are  you 
my  executioner  ?" 

"Good  God,  no!"  cried  Roddy.  "Fifty-four, 
four!  I'm  the  man  that  gave  you  the  warning. 
The  tunnel!"  he  cried.  "The  tunnel  is  open." 
He  shoved  the  butt  of  the  revolver  toward  the 
shadow.  "Take  this!"  he  commanded;  "if  I've 
lied  to  you,  shoot  me.  But  come!" 

General  Rojas  stepped  from  the  cell,  and  with  a 
cry  of  relief  Roddy  swung  to  the  iron  door  upon 
the  turnkey  and  locked  it.  The  act  seemed  to 
reassure  the  older  man,  and  as  the  glare  of  the 
lanterns  in  the  corridor  fell  upon  Roddy's  face  the 
eyes  of  the  General  lit  with  hope  and  excitement. 
With  a  cry  of  remorse  he  held  out  the  revolver. 

"  I  was  waiting  to  die,"  he  said.  "  Can  you  for 
give  me  ?" 

"Can  you  run  ?"  was  Roddy's  answer. 

With  the  joyful  laugh  of  a  boy,  the  General 
turned  and,  refusing  Roddy's  arm,  ran  with  him 
down  the  corridor.  When  he  saw  the  fallen  grat 
ing  he  gave  a  cry  of  pleasure,  and  at  the  sight  of 
the  breach  in  the  wall  he  exclaimed  in  delight. 

301 


The  White  Mice 

"It  is  good!"  he  cried.  "It  Is  well  done." 
Roddy  had  picked  up  the  turnkey's  lantern  and 
had  given  it  to  General  Rojas.  Lowering  it  before 
him,  the  old  soldier  nimbly  scaled  the  mass  of 
fallen  masonry,  and  with  an  excited,  breathless 
sigh  plunged  into  the  tunnel. 

As  he  did  so,  in  his  eyes  there  flashed  a  circle 
of  light;  in  his  ears  there  sounded  a  cry,  in  its  joy 
savage,  exultant,  ringing  high  above  the  tumult 
of  the  battle.  The  light  that  had  blinded  him  fell 
clattering  to  the  stones;  in  the  darkness  he  felt 
himself  held  helpless,  in  strong,  young  arms. 
"  Father ! "  sobbed  the  voice  of  a  girl.  "  Father !" 
Like  a  coach  on  the  side-lines,  like  a  slave-driver 
plying  his  whip,  Roddy,  with  words  of  scorn,  of 
entreaty,  of  encouragement,  lashed  them  on  toward 
the  mouth  of  the  tunnel  and,  through  the  laurel,  to 
the  launch.  Acting  as  rear-guard,  with  a  gun  in 
his  hand  he  ran  back  to  see  they  were  not  pursued, 
or  to  forestall  an  ambush  skirmished  in  advance. 
Sometimes  he  gave  an  arm  to  Vicenti,  sometimes 
to  the  General;  at  all  times  he  turned  upon  them 
an  incessant  torrent  of  abuse  and  appeal. 

"Only  a  minute  longer,"  he  begged,  "only  a  few 
yards  further.  Don't  let  them  catch  us  in  the  last 
inning!  Don't  let  them  take  it  from  you  in  the 
stretch!  Only  a  few  strokes  more,  boys,"  he  cried 

302 


The  White  Mice 

frantically,  "and  I'll  let  you  break  training.  Now 
then,  all  of  you !  Run!  Run!" 

Not  until  they  were  safely  seated  in  the  launch, 
and  her  head  was  pointed  to  the  open  sea,  did  he 
relax  his  vigilance,  or  share  in  their  rejoicing. 

But  when  the  boat  sped  forward  and  the  shore 
sank  into  darkness  he  heaved  a  happy,  grateful 
sigh. 

"If  you've  left  anything  in  that  flask,  Vicenti," 
he  said,  "I  would  like  to  drink  to  the  family  of 
Rojas." 

The  duel  between  the  city  and  the  fort  had 
ceased.  On  the  man-of-war  and  on  the  ramparts 
of  the  fortress  the  guns  were  silent.  From  the  city 
came  a  confusion  of  shouts  and  cheers.  In  his 
excitement,  Roddy  stood  upright. 

"It  sounds  as  though  you  had  won,  sir!"  he 
cried. 

"Or  that  they  have  exhausted  their  ammuni 
tion!"  answered  the  General.  The  answer  was 
not  long  in  coming. 

From  the  deck  of  the  gun-boat  there  sprang  into 
the  darkness  the  pointing  finger  of  a  search-light. 
It  swept  the  wharves,  showing  them  black  with 
people;  it  moved  between  the  custom-house  and 
the  fort,  and  disclosed  the  waters  of  the  harbor 
alive  with  boats,  loaded  to  the  gunwale  with  armed 

303 


The  White  Mice 

men.  Along  the  ramparts  of  the  fort  the  shaft  of 
light  crept  slowly,  feeling  its  way,  until  it  reached 
the  flag-staff.  There  it  remained,  stationary,  point 
ing.  From  the  halyards  there  drooped  a  long, 
white  cloth. 

With  a  cheer,  Roddy  spun  the  wheel,  and  swung 
the  bow  of  the  launch  toward  Miramar. 

"  You  needn't  go  to  Curacao  to-night,  General!" 
he  cried.  "This  city  votes  solid  for  Rojas!" 

From  the  wharves  to  the  farthest  limits  of  the 
town  the  cheers  of  victory  swept  in  a  tidal  wave 
of  sound.  With  one  accord  the  people,  leaping, 
shouting,  dancing,  and  cheering,  raced  into  the 
Alameda. 

"To  Miramar,"  they  shrieked,  "to  Miramar! 


To  those  in  the  launch  the  cheers  of  triumph 
carried  clearly.  The  intoxication  of  the  multitude 
was  contagious. 

"What  do  you  wish  ?"  demanded  Roddy  breath 
lessly  —  "to  show  yourself  to  the  people,  or  -  ' 

"No!"  cried  the  General,  "to  my  home,  to  my 
home!" 

When  San  Carlos  surrendered,  those  in  charge 
of  the  cartel,  making  a  virtue  of  what  they  knew 
would  soon  be  a  necessity,  threw  open  the  cells  of 
the  political  prisoners,  and  Peter,  McKildrick,  and 

304 


The  White  Mice 

Pedro  found  themselves  in  the  street,  once  more 
free  men.  There  they  learned  that  Vega  and  his 
band  had  been  routed,  and  that  Vega,  driven  back 
to  the  harbor,  had  taken  refuge  on  a  sailing  boat, 
and  was  on  his  way  to  Curacao. 

From  Caracas  the  news  was  of  more  momentous 
interest.  The  rising  of  the  Rojas  party  in  Porto 
Cabello  had  led  the  same  faction  at  the  capital  to 
proclaim  itself  in  revolt.  They  found  themselves 
unopposed.  By  regiments  the  government  troops 
had  deserted  to  the  standard  of  Rojas,  and  Alvarez, 
in  open  flight,  had  reached  his  yacht,  at  La  Guayra, 
and  was  steaming  toward  Trinidad.  Already  a 
deputation  had  started  for  Porto  Cabello  to  conduct 
Rojas  to  the  capital.  But  as  to  whether  in  freeing 
Rojas  Roddy  had  succeeded  or  failed,  or  whether 
Rojas  had  been  assassinated,  or  had  been  set  at 
liberty  by  his  victorious  followers,  they  could  learn 
nothing. 

Only  at  the  home  of  Senora  Rojas  could  they 
hear  the  truth.  Accordingly,  with  the  rest  of  the 
city,  they  ran  to  Miramar.  The  house  was  ablaze 
with  lights,  and  the  Alameda  in  front  of  it,  the  gar 
dens,  even  the  long  portico  were  packed  with  a  mad 
mob  of  people.  Climbing  to  the  railings  and  to  the 
steps  of  the  house  itself,  men  prominent  in  the  life 
of  the  city  called  for  "  Vivas"  for  the  new  President, 

3°5 


The  White  Mice 

for  Senora  Rojas,  for  the  Rojas  revolution.  Below 
them,  those  who  had  been  wounded  in  the  fight 
just  over  were  lifted  high  on  the  shoulders  of  the 
mob,  and  in  it,  struggling  for  a  foothold,  were 
many  women,  their  cheeks  wet  with  tears,  their 
cries  of  rejoicing  more  frantic  even  than  those  of 
the  men. 

For  a  mad  quarter  of  an  hour  the  crowd  in 
creased  in  numbers,  the  shouting  in  vehemence; 
and  then,  suddenly,  there  fell  a  shocked  and  uneasy 
silence.  Men  whispered  together  fearfully.  In 
the  eyes  of  all  were  looks  of  doubt  and  dismay. 
From  man  to  man  swept  the  awful  rumor  that  at 
San  Carlos,  Rojas  had  not  been  found. 

It  was  whispered  that,  from  the  fortress,  messen 
gers  had  brought  the  evil  tidings.  The  worst  had 
come  to  pass.  At  the  last  moment  the  defenders 
of  San  Carlos  had  cheated  them  of  their  victory. 
Rojas  had  been  assassinated,  and  his  body  thrown 
to  the  harbor  sharks. 

From  the  mob  rose  a  great,  moaning  cry,  to  be 
instantly  drowned  in  yells  of  rage  and  execration. 
A  leader  of  the  Rojas  party  leaped  to  the  steps  of 
the  portico.  "Their  lives  for  his!"  he  shrieked. 
"Death  to  his  murderers!  To  the  fortress!" 

Calling  for  vengeance,  those  in  the  garden  surged 
toward  the  gates;  but  an  uncertain  yell  from  the 

306 


The  White  Mice 

mob  in  the  street  halted  them.  They  turned  and 
saw  upon  the  balcony  above  the  portico  the  figure 
of  Senora  Rojas.  With  one  arm  raised,  she  com 
manded  silence;  with  the  other,  she  pointed  to  the 
long  window  through  which  she  had  just  ap 
peared.  Advancing  toward  the  edge  of  the  balcony, 
the  mob  saw  two  young  girls  leading  between  them, 
erect  and  soldierly,  a  little,  gray-haired  man. 

Amazed,  almost  in  terror,  as  though  it  looked  on 
one  returning  from  the  grave,  for  an  ins* ant  there 
was  silence.  And  then  men  shrieked  and  sobbed, 
and  the  night  was  rent  with  their  exultant  yell  of 
welcome. 

With  their  backs  pressed  against  the  railings 
of  the  garden,  Peter  and  McKildrick  looked  up  at 
the  figures  on  the  balcony  with  eyes  that  saw  but 
dimly. 

"So  Roddy  got  away  with  it,"  said  Pete*. 
"  Pino  Vega,  please  write !  Viva  the  White  Mice ! " 

With  a  voice  that  shook  suspiciously,  McKil 
drick  protested. 

"Let's  get  out  of  this,"  he  said,  "or  I  shall  start 
singing  the  doxology." 

An  hour  later,  alone  on  the  flat  roof  of  Miramar, 
leaning  on  the  parapet,  were  two  young  people. 
Above  them  were  the  blue-black  sky  and  white  stars 
of  the  tropics;  from  below  rose  the  happy  cheers 

307 


The  White  Mice 

of  the  mob  and  the  jubilant  strains  of  a  triumphant 
march. 

"To-morrow,"  said  Roddy,  "I  am  going  to  ask 
your  father  a  favor.  I  am  going  to  ask  him  for 
the  use  for  two  hours  of  the  cell  he  last  occupied." 

"And  why  ?"  protested  Inez. 

"I  want  it  for  a  friend,"  said  Roddy.  "Pedro 
tells  me  my  friend  is  the  man  who  sent  word  to 
San  Carlos  to  have  the  White  Mice  locked  up  and 
your  father  moved  into  another  cell.  I  want  the 
new  Commandante  to  lock  my  friend  in  that  cell, 
and  to  tell  him  he  is  to  remain  there  the  rest  of  his 
natural  life.  Two  hours  later,  the  White  Mice  will 
visit  htm,  and  will  smile  on  him  through  the  bars. 
Then  I'll  unlock  the  door,  and  give  him  his  '  pas 
sage-money  home  and  a  month's  wages.'  His 
name  is  Caldwell." 

"  I  had  no  idea  you  were  so  vindictive,"  said  Inez. 

"It  is  rather,"  said  Roddy,  "a  sense  of  humor. 
It  makes  the  punishment  fit  the  crime." 

He  turned,  and  drawing  closer,  looked  at  her 
wistfully,  appealingly. 

"Your  father,"  he  whispered,  "is  free." 

The  girl  drew  a  long  breath  of  happiness. 

"Yes,"  she  sighed. 

"I  repeat,"  whispered  Roddy,  "your  father  is 
free." 

308 


The  White  Mice 

"I  don't  understand,"  answered  the  girl  softly. 

"  Have  you  forgotten ! "  cried  Roddy.  "  You  for 
bade  me  to  tell  you  that  I  loved  you  until  he  was 
free/' 

Inez  looked  up  at  him,  and  the  light  of  the  stars 
fell  in  her  eyes. 

"What  will  you  tell  me  ?"  she  whispered. 

"I  will  tell  you,"  said  Roddy,  "the  name  of  a 
girl  who  is  going  to  be  kissed  in  one  second." 


THE  END 


309 


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